


Ghost Smut Collection

by officialoperaghost



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 03:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20202796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialoperaghost/pseuds/officialoperaghost
Summary: If you follow me on tumblr, you've seen these before. Here are all additional posts from tumblr for those who don't have it.https://copious-amounts-of-copia.tumblr.comAs a full disclaimer I do not own these characters. They belong to Tobias Forge, and if he ever reads this, I'm so fucking sorry pal. I don't make money from posting these here. I am posting this for fun and for others to enjoy. Please don't sue me.This is all FICTION and should be REGARDED AS FICTION.





	1. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TSWC verse.

Wood polish, incense, candle wax. The smell of the confessional, and a smell I had come to associate with him.

I knew by now that waiting until the last few minutes of confessional time would always land me as the last person to be seen, and give us plenty of opportunity to chat. If he had any other duties for the evening, he never told me so; happy to sit and talk to me, his low, lullaby voice purring through the confessional grate while I blushed and fidgeted.

The candles had burnt down by this hour, and the sconces added to the dim, dreamy light they threw over the ornate room. The shadows masked the shining golden lustre of the walls but they still glinted and twinkled in patches as I walked by. The booth looked almost ink-black in the setting sunlight, a silhouette of ebony amidst the splendor.

My footsteps echoed around the large, silent room. When my clammy hand touched the sleek wood of the door, a small shudder ran down the length of my spine - I slipped inside, closing it as quietly as I could behind me before settling on the little seat, already a little breathless.

The smell of musk and cologne drifted from the grate. It was dark enough that I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was there; the gooseflesh on my arms and legs were proof enough of his presence. We sat in the dark for several moments, the only sound being my shaky breathing.

“Buonasera.” I whispered. My cowl felt like a hand squeezing my throat. I swallowed hard, lips parted.

“Buonasera, sorella.”

At the sound of his voice I rested my head against the wood. He was sat just inches away, so close and yet completely unreachable. My fingers plucked at the hem of my habit, my hands barely visible in the scarce light.

“I’ve come to you for advice, Your Unholiness.”

The gentle inhale of his breath, then silence. Waiting for me to continue.

“I have been practising my sins.” My finger trailed around the carved patterns in the wood, eyes flickering over to watch. “But I feel I can improve in one sin in particular. The sin of lust. I’ve been having impure thoughts, but… perhaps not impure enough.”

Silence again. The air was hot in these stuffy little booths, and I wished I could peel off my veil and cowl to give myself some air.

“Vedo.” He said, at last; I closed my eyes, listening to his voice buzz through the wood, so quiet, so intimate. “Perhaps you will tell your Papa these thoughts. I can tell you if they are… ah… sinful enough.”

The entire side of my body was pressing into the wood, subconsciously trying to get as close to him as possible. I let his honeyed words flow over me for a moment, breathing in a shaky breath of nervous excitement. He’d never asked me that before.

“I… I imagine myself with someone. A man. I’ve been admiring him from afar, but I cannot have him. And one day, he comes to me in the night, appearing when I’m in the middle of getting changed for bed…” My fingers wrapped around the Grucifix hanging around my neck; licking my lips, I continued. “… and he kisses me.”

No response for that. My cheeks were beginning to burn. Closing my eyes, I bolstered my nerve and carried on.

“He kisses me so passionately it’s like he missed me. His fingers twist in my hair and he takes me to my bed. Pushes me down onto it so I’m sitting, wearing just my nightie and panties. I’m staring up at him while he looks down at me, and he’s touching himself through his pants, and without breaking eye contact he undoes his pants and takes it out… and I’m shaking and trying not to moan, because I’ve wanted it for so long…”

A rustle of fabric, a brief exhale. I tailed off, enjoying the scene I was painting in my head. Imagining his eyes - that one wicked white one glinting in the moonlight - enrapturing me as he took out his cock, his gloved hand stroking himself just inches from my face. My thighs squeezed together and I shifted on the seat, exhaling shakily. He hadn’t said anything, so I took my cue.

“He takes his cock and I open my mouth already - I’m so eager to taste it, I’ve been thinking about tasting it for months. He slides the tip all over my lips and tongue, and it’s so big and so hard I can’t help moaning, begging for him to put it in my mouth -”

“Cazzo -” Barely audible, hissed between teeth, but there. I opened my eyes and listened, holding my breath; the quiet panting I’d attributed to myself continued to rasp. A hot flush saturated my entire body as I sat in stunned silence, heart pounding. Was… was he enjoying himself?

“But he only lets me suck him for a few minutes. He’s pulling my nightie off, and my panties - and he knows he doesn’t need to do anything else with me from how soaked they are, just for him. I’ve been thinking about him for months and he’s finally here, finally undressing me, finally in my bed, and it’s so good and so surreal that I can’t quite believe it - and I’m so fucking /_wet_/ -”

The last word, moaned, rang through the booth. I stopped dead, glancing down. My hand had crept between my thighs and was pushed against myself, trying to ease the growing throb there.

“I’m wet right now for you, Papa.” I uttered.

A hitched breath, the sound of fabric, moving rhythmically, stifled moans. Eyes wide, I listened carefully, heart racing, scarcely daring to breathe.

“Your… fingers.” He muttered. “Where?”

The heat on my face intensified. I blew upwards onto my sweaty brow, swallowing.

“They’re on me.” I confessed. “I… I can’t help it. I need… I need it so bad.”

More ragged breaths, more movement.

“Play with yourself. Tell me how you do this.”

Oh, God. My hand grinding against my heat, I sighed shakily at the minor relief it gave me.

“I’m… I’m touching myself over my panties.” I whispered. “They’re soaked. I’m slipping my fingers under the waistband and I’m - ah - touching my skin.”

Hesitantly, I dutifully recounted what I was doing to him, tone hushed - it was quite embarrassing, but with every passing second I would hear another gasp, another little groan, and the possibility of him touching himself at my words was growing. I let myself imagine him for a minute, leaning back on his seat, chasuble pulled up so he could stroke his cock. I wondered what it looked like.

I’d fallen silent, the sounds of my fingers working against my wet flesh filling the air. It didn’t even feel good anymore. I would not be sated until I had him, and to know that he could possibly be entertaining the same thought less than a foot away from me…

Gloved fingers gripped onto the grate. I clambered onto my trembling knees to look at them, breathing shallowly. With reverence, I trailed the tip of my finger over his. I shuddered, hard. It was the first time I had ever touched him.

“Sister.” He said it between his teeth. “More.”

“It’s you, Papa.” I whispered. “All I think about is you. Please.”

From my position, I couldn’t see his face, but a glimpse of his lap - my heartbeat pounded in my temples when I saw his hand travelling over himself, just a glimpse of his cock. I whimpered, and craned to see more, face against the grate. His hand moved, and gloved fingers slipped through the grate once more - right over my mouth. When I sucked on them, he groaned - and my knees wobbled so violently I almost fell.

“Please.” I begged.

“You come to me.” He rasped. “Over and over. You see your Papa in confessional, week after week… for this?”

“Yes.” I admitted, quietly.

After a beat, the hand moved from the grate. The sound of metal - of locks turning. I sat back from the panel, mouth open, watching with incredulity as the middle partition slowly swung open. And he was there, staring at me with those eyes, the facepaint and the eye glowing eerily in the darkness. And just from that look, I came completely undone, melting into my seat and only managing a weak little moan. When I finally was able to tear my eyes away from his, I saw his hand wrapped around his cock, chasuble bundled around his waist like I’d imagined. He smirked at my expression and I looked away, cheeks burning.

“No, look.” He whispered hoarsely. I did; he gripped the base and moved his hand along it slowly, dragging his foreskin over the glistening head. He was actually bigger than I had hoped, and long enough that I knew it would hurt in the best way if he got too rough. I sank onto my hands and knees then, unable to take my eyes away from him.

“Can… can I?” I uttered. 

A smirk, a shrug.

“If you want this, Sister.”

Want was an understatement. As soon as he gave me his consent I was on my feet, kicking off my shoes, jetting them aside before I all but jumped on him, squeezing through the tiny space into his side of the booth.

It wasn’t until I was on my knees in front of him I noticed how surprised he was, jaw slack as I dragged my tongue quickly over his head, his cock still gripped in his hand. Salty arousal coated my tongue and I couldn’t resist closing my mouth over his tip briefly before forcing myself away. I wanted him to fuck me every which way, and now he was giving me the chance, I was spoilt for choice. My trembling hands roamed over his thighs, over and onto his chest. His shock hadn’t diminished, and I shrank away, mortified.

“I - I’m sorry, Papa?” I whispered. Oh God, had I done something wrong? My back pressed into the wall and I cringed, hand coming to my mouth to chew at my thumb. Papa blinked, and then smirked.

“Va bene, sister. Most will start with a small touch but you are… a girl who takes what she wants.” He chuckled, eyes blazing. “You think of this moment?”

“Yes.” I choked. “So many times.”

He tilted his head then, a lazy smile playing on his lips as he stroked his cock, eyes flickering over me.

“Show your Papa what you think of.”

I shivered at his words, shaking my head a little.

“You’re… you’re sure?”

“If you don’t do this, I will.” He muttered darkly.

Hesitantly, still wondering if this was some sort of test, I returned to him, my hands brushing his chest lightly. He relaxed back in his seat and watched, alternating his gaze between where I was touching him and my face. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I couldn’t believe I was finally touching him. It had been months in the making, and the pulse between my legs was unbearable.

I had to have him.

When I straddled his lap, the same surprise flashed on his face, just for a minute. His face was so close to mine, and although I was scared to wrap my arms around his neck, doing so felt completely natural. I studied him closely. I needed to commit this moment to memory; his eyes, hooded with arousal. His parted lips, plump and inviting me to kiss them. The rasp of his breath in his throat.

My hand skimmed down his front to touch his cock, brushing his own hand out of the way so I could grab it properly - so hard, so big. Shuddering, I looked down at it; it was leaking onto my habit, his come making a little wet patch on the dark fabric. His forehead pressed onto mine, then, and I couldn’t bear it anymore. Balancing on my knees, I pulled my panties aside and sat up, eyes closing as I teased the tip of his cock against myself; hot and hard, slick in seconds from how wet I was. He buckled forward, forehead pressing to mine again, the heat of his breath on my face. His hands reached, grabbed my hips, rocking my body against the movement.

Now it was actually about to happen, I was putting off actually doing it. The thrill of getting this far was intoxicating; my head spinning, I moaned quietly, panting from arousal.

Just when I couldn’t take it anymore, I finally pushed him inside of me - and the resulting groan falling from his lips was so deliciously good I almost came there and then. I slid slowly down his length until I was flush with his body, his cock buried inside me completely. His lips trailed over my face, my cheek, to my ear.

“Thought you were just going to touch me, Sister.” He mumbled, and a stab of panic immediately knifed into my gut. Sensing me tensing, he squeezed my hips. “This is more fun. Andiamo.”

At his command, I started to move. I tried to keep it slow at first but having him under me, inside me - the man I had been lusting after for /_months_/ - was too much. I slammed myself down onto him, grabbing his shoulders for leverage so I could ride him properly. My thighs burned from the effort but I didn’t care; his own hips moved, his cock driving into me relentlessly, his body so new and exhilarating to touch but fucking me so easily like we’d done this a hundred times before. I wanted to push my face into his neck to stifle my pathetically desperate moans but didn’t dare. Each snap of his hips made the pressure tighten, hitting inside me so deep my eyes rolled, unable to catch my breath.

Papa remained composed but his breathing was ragged. I could feel his eyes burning into me; when I moved my hand to my mouth he grabbed my wrist and wrenched it away.

“This is what you want, yes?” He whispered. I nodded, pausing to just sit on him for a second, feeling his whole length inside of me while I shifted and moaned. His hand travelled up my thigh and then his thumb was pressing against my clit, making me squirm, whimper, beg. He rubbed it in quick little circles, and the pressure only worsened. I shook my head quickly.

“No, no.” I gasped. “Not over. Not yet. Please.”

“But you sound so good like this.” He teased, bouncing his hips up into me so I would start moving again. It felt so fucking /good/ - I was so close I could cry - but I didn’t want this to end yet. I’d waited months and months for this and he had me coming undone in minutes.

“You like this, Sister?” He growled, unrelenting, hand squeezing my hip to keep my motion going. Groaning, I could only nod. It was threatening to crash at any second - just one little thing more would tip me over the edge completely -

He kissed me, with surprising tenderness, and I shattered.


	2. A Copia Backstory Snippet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A one shot of an encounter in Copia's past. TSWCverse.

It was a strange feeling to have someone in his room, but not an unpleasant one.

As soon as they’d entered his little flat, she’d asked where the bedroom was; the two syllables stretching on the pink pout of her lips. He’d gestured, hoping his hand wasn’t shaking as much as it felt like it was - and she dragged him into there as if this were her place.

Truth be told, Copia was mortified at the state of his room. He made his bed every morning but piles upon piles of paper, books, manuscripts, half-scribbled notes from the crowded mind of an insomniac spread on every available surface.

He hadn’t been expecting company.

Perhaps sensing his nerves, she pushed him to sit on the bed, standing before him with wide eyes. The lights remained off and she was little more than a silhouette, the scarce light of the moon catching on the higher planes of her face and shoulders, the rest of her swallowed into shadow.

“You’ve done this before, right?”

He almost forgot to answer. Her hand slipped behind her, the sound of a zipper coming undone ringing in his ears. She shrugged out of her dress and stood, watching him, after it had puddled onto the floor.

Strapless dress, so no bra. Copia’s lips pressed together tightly as he regarded her, a dull ache beginning to build in his stomach. His strange eyes outlined her figure, hands twisting in his lap.

“Right?”

She ran her hands through her hair, raking upwards on her scalp - the movement pressed the globes of her breasts out, made her stomach tighten and lengthen gracefully. Her waist was tiny. It looked like he could wrap both his hands around her middle and have his fingers touch.

He wondered, with growing unease, what the hell she was doing with him.

“Well?”

His head snapped up to catch her gaze, her eyebrow raised as she froze in position, hair bundled over her hands.

“Yes, yes.”

Hardly a lie.

“How many?” There was a tinge of amusement in her enquiry that sent a flush over his cheeks. He plucked at the fabric of his pant leg, eyes lowering.

“…Lots.”

Hardly true.

She laughed at that, and he wasn’t sure if it was endearing or not. Her height rapidly descended as she stepped out of her heels and then she crouched so she was on his level, head tilting, hair tumbled over one shoulder. Inches from his face, her beautiful eyes studied his own, her painted lips curling slightly.

“You got some weird eyes.”

Copia nodded, looking down at her lips as she spoke. They were so full they creased in the centre, stained a deep, fleshy pink by her lipstick, and looked velvety soft. His hand moved of its own accord and he watched the pad of his thumb touch her lower lip lightly, warmed by the heat of her breath.

He leaned in to kiss her and she pulled away, giggling; his lips brushed briefly on her cheek.

“Naw, I don’t do that.” She got onto her knees, eyelashes fanning over her cheeks where she was looking down at his lap. “Only with boyfriends.”

This was a terrible idea. He’d only went to the bar for a quick drink before he retired for the evening. She’d been there with a group of her friends, laughing raucously in the corner of the room. When she’d come over to pay the tab, she’d struck up a conversation with him, despite him being perhaps the worst conversationalist in the country. A woman as beautiful as her had no reason to be speaking to him, and when she casually asked if he lived nearby, his brow had furrowed. He’d glanced over at her friends - but they were leaving, slinging bags over shoulders and primping hair as they did so. One of the women she had been sitting with looked to be waiting for her. She’d asked him again, then, very quietly, taking her time counting out the money onto the bar.

He did. He lived in the same building. Her blue eyes had swept over him - head to toe - in the same way one sized up produce at a grocery store. With an almost imperceptible shrug that he did not miss, she asked him if he wanted to take her back there.

He was entirely convinced it was some sort of joke, even now as she knelt before him, mostly naked, her hands skimming his thighs.

The regular feelings of inadequacy that haunted him through his day to day life seemingly multiplied by every passing second. He was horrifically embarrassed that he couldn’t bring himself to stop looking at her body, and all too aware that if she passed her hand a little higher on his left thigh she’d be able to feel him straining against the fabric, so hard and so desperate already. Shame knifed through the staccato beat of his heart. Though it wasn’t his first time, the sense of this being completely wrong still permeated the back of his skull. But… if she _did_ put her hand over him and rubbed him just the right way, the relief would be indescribable…

“You don’t talk much, huh?”

When he shrugged, she burst out laughing - a harsh, sudden sound that snapped the dreamlike reverie of the night around them. Anxiety rushed into the pit of his stomach, but then her manicured hands were tugging at the zipper of his pants, her eyes lighting up a little as she struggled to pull it down over the bulge.

Leaning back on his hand, he held his breath and watched her tug at the waistband of his underwear, her eyes widening as the fabric descended. He wondered if he should suck in his gut - he wasn’t entirely out of shape, but he was big - especially compared to her.

It didn’t look like she’d even noticed the slight paunch of his stomach. Hastily, she reached into his underwear to free him, fingers wrapping around the thick base of his cock once she’d pulled him out. Her pouty lips hung open a little, eyes locked onto him. She laughed again - this time, a short, quick exhale.

“Jesus Christ.” Her teeth embedded into her lower lip. Copia was doing everything he could not to rocky needily up into her hand, his breathing shallow. Would he ever get used to the feeling of another person’s hands on his body, or would it always be so overwhelming he would forget to breathe?

Copia said nothing, brow knitting as her hand travelled over his length slowly, not nearly tight enough to give him any sort of pleasure. His jaw flexed, hand gripping the sheets behind him. She gave the base a little squeeze, prompting beads of precum to spill down the underside of his cock, dripping onto her hand - her resulting little frown forcing his eyes to close so he wouldn’t have to look at her anymore.

“You got a rubber?”

His eyes opened again. Chest heaving as he tried to keep his breathing normal, he slowly shook his head. Something was burning inside of him, the pressure in his gut tightening just at the sight of her hand on him.

“I think I got some in my bag.”

Her bag was by her shoes, dumped onto the floor with the same level of ceremony as her dress. Her hand continued to work over him as she turned to search inside, picking through lip gloss and receipts. Tutting her frustration, her hand began to move quicker, squeezing him just a little bit more - head lolling back, Copia exhaled shakily, watching the little jerky motions of her fist move further up his cock until it was just under the head, her thumb pressing on the underside with enough pressure that his stomach tightened quickly. Too quickly.

Shifting about, Copia desperately tried to steady himself. She’d finally found a condom, turning back to hand it up to him, and when he plucked it from her with trembling fingers, /both/ of her hands wrapped around him, one twisting at the base, the other massaging over the painfully sensitive head.

“You’re fucking huge, mister.” She breathed, watching her hands move over him. “You gonna fuck me with this big cock? You gonna make me scream?”

“Wait.” He panted, pushing his hair from his face. “J-just wait -”

“You’re gonna stretch me out so good.” She moaned, hands moving faster, the pressure building in his stomach pathetically fast. “I knew there was a reason I picked you tonight.”

“O-oh mio D-dio-” He gasped, one of his hands coming to grab at her wrist urgently. “Wait -”

“I can’t wait to -”

Her lust-hooded eyelids shot open as Copia groaned, hips jerking, ropes of cum shooting onto her collarbone; she froze, stunned, and let Copia continue to thrust up into her hands, staring up at him in disbelief.

When he finished, his chin dropped to his chest, body heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“…Really?”

Oh, Jesus. He’d barely even enjoyed it. The look of horror on her face as it had happened seared into his retinas. She made to stand, and he pressed his hand onto her shoulder quickly.

“N-no, wait, I’m sorry -” He gasped, his entire face red. She rolled her eyes and tried to get up again, but his grip tightened ever so slightly on her skin to keep her in place.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” He whispered. “Let me -”

“Naw, forget it.” She mumbled. Helplessly, Copia stood with her - quickly reaching down to snatch up a towel - and passed it over her shoulder, wiping away his mess.

“Please - please -” He begged, quietly. If she left now, the humiliation would be unbearable. He had to fix this somehow. “Let me -”

“Let you what?” She didn’t look happy, but she wasn’t leaving either.

Copia squeezed the towel between his hands for a second or two, brain whirring to come up with something. He could touch her, but he wasn’t even sure if he would be able to make her happy like that.

He’d just have to make it up as he went along.

Her eyebrows arched as he quickly pulled down the strings that made up her underwear; if he hadn’t already been blushing, the sight of her completely bare body would have turned his ears red anyway. She was so comfortable with letting him see her, and he wondered what that was like.

Copia switched their positions - he let her sink down onto the bed, getting on his knees before her. Her expression hadn’t changed much, other than her pursing her lips a little. Gingerly, his hands lifted the back of her knees and she fell back onto her hands, head tilting to look at him. He could still feel her eyes burning into him as he looked down at the space between her legs. Though the front was covered in silky, golden curls, the rest was bare - waxed - and he’d never imagined anything like that in his life. Hands moving down, he gently pulled her legs apart, breathing slowly at the sight of pink, wet flesh.

He was not this woman’s husband, and yet he was looking at her like this. Though the shame of it nagged him, the thrill of doing something so sinful had his gut tightening all over again.

His thumbs moving either side of it, he spread her open, studying her closely. He’d seen this a hundred times over in anatomy books but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing the real thing. He just hoped he remembered where everything was.

As his face moved closer, the heady scent of her permeated his senses; heart pounding, struggling to keep his breathing quiet, Copia slowly flicked his tongue over the wettest part of her curiously - and the taste of her made him moan involuntarily. One of her hands fell to his head, playing with his hair as the tip of his tongue traced over the folds. He noticed the little pink bump near the top and lapped at it experimentally, hoping it was what he thought it was - she whimpered, and a sense of relief washed over him so suddenly he couldn’t help moaning again, toying at it with his tongue while her thighs started to tighten and shift on his shoulders.

It was a strange taste, but not unpleasant by any means; it coated his tongue when he pushed his face into her, burying his tongue as deep inside of her as he could. Her fingers tightened in his hair and began jerking him this way and that, his nose brushing over the pink bud from how close he was. She liked it there best, he surmised, and moved his mouth back over it.

When he wrapped his lips around it, the effect was instantaneous; her back arched and she moaned, head tipping back. With each little suck her thighs clamped tighter on his head; he shivered at the sounds she was making, eyes closing so he could concentrate.

He fell into a little rhythm of steadily sucking on the little bit of flesh, using how loud she was being to gauge how much pressure he should be putting on it, his tongue sweeping down every now and then where her wetness gathered; when he’d found just the right combination of lips and tongue, she stiffened, moaning, her fingernails scratching his scalp.

“Just - just like that -” She whined. “Put - put your fingers -”

A moan broke her sentence, but it gave Copia enough time to realise what she wanted. Breathing laboriously into her skin, he did as he was told, easing his finger into her while she bucked underneath his mouth. She pleaded for more; he buried his fore and middle fingers into her. It took a few seconds for him to figure out the rhythm again but then it was like his hand was moving on its own, his mouth busy devouring her hungrily.

Never had he thought such an act could exist. He’d do this all day if he could.

Copia’s own little groans matched hers as he got completely lost in what he was doing, heart pounding like a drum in his ribcage, electricity crackling down his spine. His gut was tight, he wasn’t letting himself breathe so he could stay as close to her as possible, sweat slicked his forehead from the effort and heat - and it was so fucking good.

Her cries grew increasingly louder until they cut off sharply; she hissed in her breath, her thighs squeezing his head tight as she bucked into his mouth, whimpering. Copia continued to work at her skin until she pushed his forehead away roughly, a shudder wracking her body.

He watched her recover, his wet hand falling into his lap to rub himself absentmindedly as he did so; she raked her hands through her hair and sighed, legs squeezing together.

After the last dregs of her orgasm left her, she glanced down at the strange man who still knelt before her, gazing up at her with those uncomfortably intense eyes; she noticed his shoulder was shaking, moving slowly, and when she sat up she saw how he was stroking his cock, already half-hard. Dissolving into giggles, she pulled on the neckline of his shirt until he stood up and got onto the bed with her, trying to pull him down on top of her.

Copia’s entire body felt like it was on fire. He tore off his shirt while she worked at pulling down his pants and underwear, roaming his hands all over her body in slight disbelief that she let him. He was fascinated with the parts of her body that he didn’t have, cupping her breasts and pushing them together a little. When he squeezed, she laughed again, thrashing under him as she felt around for the condom.

“I thought you was gonna be a bust. Come on, I don’t wanna wait any longer.”

Ah, shit. She was holding the condom up to him, and he took it from her as if it were a loaded gun. It would be impossible to see the instructions in the dark and besides - he couldn’t exactly hide him squinting at it, trying to decipher the symbols on the back. Unless…

He turned it over in his hand nonchalantly, eyes hurried scanning over the words. He’d used one before - although he wasn’t the one to put it on.

Her hand slid over his shoulder.

“I think it’d be big enough, mister.” She whispered.

He gave a nod and tore it open, fingers sliding over the condom as he removed it. She was busy skimming her hands over his arms, so he didn’t have the added pressure of her staring as he put it on.

When she glanced down, she smiled, and he could have cried with relief. Her legs parted, her hands on the small of his back, trying to guide his body closer to hers.

Instead, he lay down and moved her on top, intent that she would be able to get what she wanted from him. She didn’t seem to mind - she hovered over him, taking his dick in her hand and pressing it into herself, her mouth falling open. She hissed slightly, hips shifting but continuing to sink - Copia groaned at the tightness, back arching, biting so hard into his lower lip he could taste blood.

She mumbled something he didn’t catch and then she began to move, grinding her hips against his a few times before her thighs flexed to lift herself up and down on him, her hands pressing into his chest. One hand on her waist, the other wiping the sweat from his brow, Copia’s eyes flickered all over her body as she moved on him, her head thrown back, her mouth open and panting her pleasure into the dark. Every moment she made on him caused a pool of bliss to seep into his abdomen; his hand tightened in his hair and he moaned as quietly as he could, watching her muscles stretch and lengthen under her skin as she bounced. Eventually, her fingers slid down her stomach to touch herself; she buckled forward, breath rasping in her lungs, her free hand tugging at his shoulder again.

“You… you…”

She was trying to roll him over, and though he hesitated at first he obliged her, holding his weight up from her on his elbows and slowly starting to move his hips. Her hand tangled in the sheets above her, her chin lifting, chest heaving, as he fucked her carefully, watching her for any signs that he was doing anything wrong. Between them her hand moved quickly; she writhed and moaned, brow furrowing anytime he pushed entirely into her. He wanted to bury his face into her neck, to kiss her skin, to feel her hands on his body. He couldn’t take his eyes off the bob of her throat.

He could feel himself getting lost in it but the band was tightening in his stomach - he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. She threw her head back again with a moan, and he felt her tighten even more around him; groaning, he drove into her faster, daring to brush his lips over the exposed skin of her neck, feeling it build higher and higher.

She tried to drop her chin down and his lips sealed onto the crease where her neck met her shoulder momentarily, the quick motion making his teeth rasp over the surface of her skin. She wriggled herself away a little; he dropped his face into the bed beside her head to muffle his moans as he came, shuddering hard as it tore through him.

“Why you trying to mark me up like that?”

He couldn’t speak. At the insistent push of her hands on his chest he got off her, sitting up to see to the condom before it made a mess. He leaned over to toss it into the wastepaper bin by the bed, and by the time he looked back she was already in her underwear, fiddling with getting her dress over her head.

He blinked, immediately pulling the blankets over him, chin on his knees as he watched her, heart sinking.

“It’s late.” He muttered, hoping the dark room would cover his flush. “You could -”

“Naw, it’s alright. I can let myself out.”

Even though he wasn’t particularly sure he liked this woman, he would certainly enjoy the company during the night; something to distract him from the constant buzz of his thoughts. Someone to talk to, maybe.

“You can have the bed.” He offered, quietly. Crouching to fix one of her shoes, she glanced up at him.

“Jeez, mister. You never had a one night stand before?” She laughed, and he had a horrible feeling it was at his expense. He shrugged, eyes drifting away.

“It was fun and all but…” She rooted through her bag before clicking it closed. “…I don’t make a habit of staying. Maybe I’ll see you around, Cosier.”

“Copia.” He muttered, but she was already leaving the room. “My name is Copia.”


	3. Dirty Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TSWCverse! Takes place after the events of chapter four.

Copia watched the Sister stumble away.

Within a few seconds, she was far enough that the lantern light barely illuminated her anymore; and then, with a turn down the aisle, she was gone.

He stood for a few moments, trying to quell the confusing amalgam of thoughts rushing in his head. Above them all, the image of her - half asleep and dressed in her nightwear - was burning until it was the most prominent, unshakeable, unfading. Finding himself still staring at where she had been standing, Copia shook his head quickly and beetled away to where he had been before, tending to the neglected books.

Usually, he enjoyed the quiet. He did not feel at home surrounded by sound - even the blare of good music made him wince. But now, as he settled the lantern onto the carpet and returned to his position on his knees before the half-organised bookshelf, he found it to be quite disconcerting. In the silence, the buzz of thoughts only intensified, rolling together and over each other, louder and louder until he rubbed at his forehead with a grunt. Organising the books was hardly intellectual work but there was definitely something soothing about rhythmically pulling out each tome, setting it on the floor, placing it back whenever he could - sliding it into an empty space like a jigsaw piece into a puzzle. 

As his fingers ran along the spines of the books, he noticed they were trembling. He frowned, pausing, to watch them. Tightened his hand into a fist. And then continued - pulling out a few books and glancing at the faded numbers on their sides. Most of the books were in the right place - sort of - and just needed to be reshelved correctly. On a table nearby sat a stack of books that had found their way over here from far-fetched corners of the library; he’d have to take them to his room and sort them during the daylight.

He was sweating, which was odd. If anything, the temperature of the abbey seemed perpetually arctic; when he’d first come in here a few hours ago, his breath ballooned in front of him in short sprays as he’d walked, familiarising himself with the surroundings. Copia wiped his forehead on the back of his hand and carried on the menial job for a few more moments, with a lot less enthusiasm than when he’d begun.

Perhaps he was getting tired. Maybe he should call it a night.

Shelving the rest of the books, he got to his feet and, retrieving the lantern, went to gather the miscellaneous books from the end table, balancing them against himself as he weaved through the labyrinth back to his room.

But every so often, he would pause; just on the edge of the lamplight, he kept imagining a figure, streaking across the aisles, chasing after him playfully, watching him through the cracks of the books. A figure in nightwear, clutching a Latin book, with hair glossy and messy down her back. Each time he froze thinking he’d seen her, his heart would thump heavily, eyes scanning the dark for a second until he realised she wasn’t actually there. Just his old mind playing tricks on him.

After locking his quarters, Copia set the books on the coffee table and extinguished the lantern, leaving only the light of the bathroom and the silvery gleam of the moonlight to illuminate his little home. He headed into the bathroom then, picking up a facecloth and turning on the tap. While he waited for the frigid water to heat, he glanced up at himself - sweat slicked his forehead, and his pulse had not slowed. Steam cascaded up from the sink and soon the mirror fogged; he wet the cloth and scrubbed over his eyes, smearing the black paint down his face before rinsing the cloth again and washing it off completely.

Light off, into bed. Wait for sleep to come.

But of course, it didn’t. Even though he hadn’t slept the night before his transfer, and even though he’d now been awake for well over twenty four hours, Copia lay awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Something was alive in his veins, and it was an uncomfortable feeling. An internal itch that he couldn’t sate, no matter how much he tossed and turned. Under the sheets, his body boiled; but any time his arms came out they’d be nipped by the cold night air. Sweat beaded on his forehead continuously. He mopped it away with an irate sigh, hand coming to rest over his fitful heart.

What was it she’d said to him? She wanted lessons? He’d only ever taught senior Brothers before, and that was years ago. He wasn’t sure where he’d even start with her. He imagined her coming into his office - in the same habit she wore the day she took him there for the first time - and perching on the chair opposing his. She didn’t wear the veil, he had noticed, and her hair shone in the sun each time she turned her head. Even in the lantern light, he’d seen twinkles glinting in her locks. He could imagine her folding her legs up onto the chair, engrossed in what she was doing, sucking the pen between her lips to bite at it while she considered something. His mind drifted further - her asking for his help, him coming over to her - or, no, her coming to _him_ \- leaning over beside him to show him exactly what the problem was on the page, her hair falling over him, so soft, so real he could practically smell her perfume, her leaning further to grab a book from the other side of the desk, her hand on his shoulder to keep herself balanced.

What would she do if he pulled her onto his lap?

He knew that in reality, she’d be horribly embarrassed and squirm away from him as quickly as she could, horrified at his audacity. But… but in his mind… she falls down breathlessly and laughs, her little hands on his chest, her face coming up to press into his neck. And he can wrap his arms around her, and she doesn’t shy away - instead, she surfaces again, smiling up at him gently, cheeks pink; her skin so soft and beautiful - his lips fall to her neck to taste it, and when he pulls away, drunk on her scent, he can see the purple swell of a small bruise there, marring her perfect flesh, proof he’d been close to her…

Once the love bite came into his head he couldn’t shake it. Heart racing, breathing shaky, Copia scrubbed his hands over his face to try and dispel it. Belial - it only got worse - her little moan as he leaned in to give her another, her fingers gripping onto his shoulders and weaving into his hair, her chest pressing against his own as she arched and wriggled on his lap -

His cock was painfully hard, throbbing uncomfortably where it was restrained under his pyjama pants. Copia tried his best to ignore it, hands over his eyes, attempting to control his breathing, but like a stuck record his brain kept returning to that scene it had conjured, reliving it, adding minute details that only made his gut twist more.

He wanted her here so badly it was pathetic. He wished he could lift his hands and see her coming over to him, somehow materialising in his room to come lay with him for a while. He couldn’t believe he had such a bad crush on a Sister - and he also couldn’t believe that his hand was sliding down his front to lift up his shirt, letting the night air hit his torso; hips lifting, he pulled the waistband of his pants down until his cock was free, shivering at the sensation of fabric sliding over it. It was so hard it hurt; just running his finger over it had him shaking, somehow both under and over stimulated at the same time.

He’d brought a small bottle of lube with him for the rare occasions he did anything like this. It was in his bedside table, unopened, but he knew he didn’t need it; precum beaded down his entire length, and when he smoothed his hand along the underside his hand was soaked.

Copia grabbed the thick base of his cock, feeling the blood pulsing through it. Despite the darkness he could tell how flushed it was, how desperate to be touched. Hesitantly, he wrapped his other hand just under the broad head and began gently stroking himself, breathing out shakily at the minor relief it gave him. He let his finger drift over the slit and groaned quietly, feet planting into the bed, back beginning to arch, hips rocking into his palms. Forehead slick, thighs burning, Copia fucked himself into his hands with increasing desperation - and it just wasn’t enough. His right hand slipped down from the base to cup his balls while his left hand worked over the entire fat length of his cock, pausing every few seconds to concentrate on jerking the head until he moaned again, biting down on his lower lip to keep himself quiet. His hips bucked urgently, chasing the pit that was beginning to build in his stomach - his mind snapped over a series of scenarios of her, dizzyingly fast, unable to choose one - he’d never admit it in a million years but he wanted her, he wanted her so bad it stung, completely and utterly bewitched out of nowhere. She was going to haunt his sleepless nights for months; he could feel it. It felt so wrong to think of a poor Sister in such an uncouth way, but by this point, Copia was desperate - he imagined what it would be like to lift her from his lap and put her onto the desk instead, lifting up her skirt to find she wasn’t wearing any underwear; tracing the head of his cock over her until she moaned, just as ready for it as he was; pushing inside of her, slowly, so he could feel each press and squeeze of her around him as she took him, her head tipping back; he bet she’d take him so well, moving her body to make the most of his, her quiet little moans filling the room along with the wet sounds of him taking her. And… and then… her eyes meet his - and he can see he’s doing a good job, making her feel good - and she can barely get it out because she’s so breathless - but the three syllables tumble from her lips -

“_Copia…_”

With a groan, the Cardinal came so hard he forgot how to breathe for a few seconds, jolting uncontrollably as his hand continued to travel mercilessly over his cock, milking out rope after rope of hot cum. It shot all over his stomach and chest, already beginning to cool. He fell back on the bed, breathless, staring up at the ceiling until it came back into focus and the world stopped spinning.

As the glow faded from his body, he could only lie there, spent; he had to force himself to sit up and dig in his bedside table for some tissues, mopping the cum off his body and cock before pulling his pants back up over his softening dick.

He had hoped that would be that. One shameful, secret fifteen minutes of touching himself, and then he could go back to assimilating into the abbey, become an unseen part of the woodwork, and never have to deal with her or this ridiculous, burning lust ever again.

His eyes began to close. And on the edge of his periphery, there she stood, a silhouette in nightwear in the moonlight.


	4. Exhibitionist's Night on the Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TSWCverse!

“Okay, that’s the two cocktails, the bruschetta appetizer, the smoked salmon amuse bouche - is that everything for now?”

“For now, yes, grazie, bella.”

“For definite? I can’t interest you in some bread sticks for the table?”

The waitress cocked her head to one side, grinning at Papa with her pen poised over the pad. He beamed back at her, and I smiled weakly. 

“No, grazie.”

“Well.” Her eyes flashed over him and her smile only widened, the end of the pen coming to the corner of her mouth playfully. “Be sure to grab me when you’re ready to order more.”

I probably should have been unamused at her overt flirting, but my mind was on my face - more specifically, how did my face look when it was neutral? Was it obvious I was over-conscious of my face? Was it obvious that Papa’s hand had snuck its way up my thigh as he’d charmed the waitress, rubbing small circles further and further up until he was petting me through my underwear? My cheeks were flushed, but that could be put down to the wine, at least. His middle finger teased up and down me until the pad pressed over my clit with no warning, and I jumped so suddenly my knees hit the bottom of the table, causing our glasses and silverware to rattle. Panicked, the waitress flung out her arms to catch anything - but thankfully nothing spilled. She giggled, finally looking over at me.

“Someone step on your grave?”

“Quite chilly tonight, yes.” I said quickly in response, curling my arm around Papa’s and nuzzling into it as demurely as I could - my grip was vice-like, fingers biting into his skin through his dinner jacket in a warning he did not heed. He continued to circle my clit through my already damp underwear, setting a small flame inside of my gut alight that began to grow.

“Well, I’ll go put your order through. I hope your evening is pleasant.” She smiled. The second she waltzed away, I snapped my head up to glare at him, stony-faced. I could see the lust already in his system - the way his lips parted to breathe, how his eyes fixed intently on me. His finger slid down and pressed into me quite roughly, as if he were trying to finger me through the underwear - and to be honest, he probably could. There was nothing of them other than some sheer mesh.

He kissed my cheek with all the sweetness of a coy boyfriend on a first date, and then his lips moved to my ear.

“You wear the underwear I get you? Bene. I rip them off you later.”

Smiling sweetly at Papa until someone passed the curved little booth we were in, my face immediately fell. It was my turn to whisper.

“Get your fingers out of me, pervert.” I hissed; he just chuckled, tapping continuously on my clit, each contact making me jerk uncontrollably.

I snatched his hand away and immediately drove my own into his lap, where he was half-hard under the fabric. And not wearing any underwear, so it seemed.

“Slut.” I tutted, but I couldn’t help laughing. I was trying to give him a taste of his own medicine but it was having the entirely opposite effect; he rocked his hips up into my touch, humming loud enough that the booth beside us began to turn to look. I made out like I was just patting his thigh, baring my teeth at them in a quick smile and then planted my hands firmly on the table.

“You know, when you asked me out for a Valentine’s date I thought you were going to be a gentleman.” I spoke quietly, so only he could really hear me over the din of the restaurant. The low lighting cast shadows over his painted face. I had expected a few eyebrows to raise - or, more truthfully, for us to be rejected at the door due to his eccentric decoration - but the maître d’ had welcomed him like an old friend, leading us to one of the semi-circle booths that had been reserved.

“I am this.” He shrugged, gloved hand picking up the wine glass. He brought it to his nose first before taking a small sip, nodding.

“Bene. Drink, Sister. My treat.”

“Doesn’t your salary come from the Church’s expenses?”

“…. Church’s treat.”

Who was I to argue with that? The wine was velvety, coating my tongue in fruit as it went down. He always ordered red - his favourite - and was eager to top my glass up once I finished with the bottle at the centre of the table. Plucking a flower from the small vase beside it, he tucked it behind my ear, such a surprisingly soft act I stared at him for a long moment.

“Hm?” Eyebrows raising, Papa drank, regarding me over the brim of the glass. I just shrugged, heart thumping just a little bit faster.

The cocktails came along with the bruschetta. The waiter who delivered them to our table announced our dish - bru/shetta/ - and I saw Papa visibly flinch. I picked one up and bit into it - the tang of fresh, ripe tomatoes hit my tongue and I munched happily, lolling against his arm as he ate too.

“Brus-ketta.” Papa mumbled between bites.

“Not everyone knows Italian, Papa.” I chuckled. He huffed at that, finishing off his appetizer and chewing quickly so he could talk back.

“No. Everyone knows English. I have to learn it but no one learns Italian.”

“Che schifo.” I tutted dramatically, which thankfully made him laugh. Now the food was gone and he’d downed most of the cocktail already, his hand curled around my waist and squeezed me even closer to him. When I glanced up, he was trying to peer down the front of my dress.

“Can I help you?”

“Sì, if you move this a little, I see better.” He tried to hook his finger on the neckline of my dress and pull it away and I scoffed, wriggling away from him.

“You’re insufferable. There’s a whole restaurant of people here - including a waitress who looks about ready to blow you under the table.”

He tutted at that, reaching over to graze his thumb over my cheekbone, gazing into my eyes.

“No, no. If anyone does the blow under the table, it’s you, cara mia.”

“I can’t believe that’s the most romantic thing you’ve said this evening.” I huffed. Laughing, he pulled me forward and pressed our lips together in a small, sweet kiss.

“Per favore? Let me see?” He whispered into my lips. Sighing, I quickly glanced around - everyone else seemed too invested in their own company. Besides: I could just play it off like the strap of my dress had fell down.

As casually as I could, I tucked one of my shoulders down until the strap went loose. With the slightest shrug it fell off completely, revealing the thin bra strap underneath. I watched Papa glance at it, then around, and then his hand lightly brushed my dress down as far as it would go, showing the matching black mesh of the bralette I was wearing. It was so sheer you could see everything through it, and his overzealous movement almost had my nipple out in the restaurant. Giggling, I snatched the strap back up and fixed it into place.

“Happy now?”

“No.” He mumbled. “Want more.”

“We’re in public.” I hissed, but his lips came to my face again, tracing over my cheek - gentle enough to distract me while he quickly pinched my nipple through the dress.

A shocked gasp fell from my mouth, loud enough that the couple in the booth next to us glanced over momentarily - thankfully, Papa had already moved his hand down to my waist and was nuzzling me, sweet as pie. Nipple throbbing,I hissed at him - but he just laughed, pouring us both some more wine.

He poured us a lot of wine that evening. When the waitress came back for our main order, Papa made sure to add another two bottles to the table, his hand squeezing my knee tight the entire time. I held my breath, waiting for it to travel up again - but it didn’t, it remained there, tight enough to bruise.

The wine was making the lights fuzzy, the sounds of the clinking plates and cutlery around us fading into a buzz. He kept saying nonsensical things, half-Italian half-English sentences, and I couldn’t stop laughing - and in turn, he laughed too, face creasing with mirth, eyes wrinkling closed as his lovely, booming laugh filled the room. People probably turned to see, but neither of us cared.

I was fiddling with a ring when Papa asked to see it, but when I eased it off my finger to hand to him it jetted onto the table, spun madly, and rolled off onto the floor.

“Cara mia!” He exclaimed, hands on the table to move it.

“No, no! I’ll get it.” I giggled. When I lifted up the overhang of the tablecloth I couldn’t see it; I slid out of my seat, patting around blindly for it.

And of course then, the waitress came over with our main.

“Frutta del mare?”

I froze, too drunk to figure out what to do. If I slipped up now, I’d look like an idiot. It didn’t occur to me that hovering under the table probably wasn’t giving the diners around us the best impression.

“Bellissimo. Ah, but, cara, it is frutta _di_ mare.”

“Oh? You’re Italian, are you?”

“Sì, sì.”

I held onto his calf for stability, and his legs slowly began to spread. With a smirk, my fingers traced up his thigh - I heard a small hitch in his throat.

“I’ve been to Venice once. Are you from anywhere near there?”

“Ah… not quite… ah..”

My palm continued to travel up his leg until it reached his cock, still half-hard. Fingers grazing along it, I rubbed my thumb lightly over his head; his leg started to bounce.

“Where then?”

“Difficult… to explain.” I could practically hear the strained smile he must have been giving.

“Oh, is it some tiny village somewhere?”

“S-something like that.”

I heard the glug of the wine bottle and knew he must have filled up his glass; leaning in, I nipped at his thigh, then traced my mouth over so it was on his head. When I sucked, a tiny moan rang out above - quickly followed by the sound of heavy drinking, and a great smacking of lips.

“S-such good wine!”

Silence. My tongue swirled over the fabric; his hand slipped down to grab my hair, pulling me off him.

“Let me know if you need anything else, sir.”

He lightly tapped my head to let me know she was gone; as I was clambering back up, my knee hit the ring, so I scooped it into my hand and planted it in front of him when I’d gotten myself situated. He stared down at it dumbly while I smoothed my hair, glancing around cautiously. A beautiful steaming plate of pasta filled with vegetables and seafood sat before us. I picked up my fork, looking over at him. His frown surprised me.

“What?”

“Not fair, Sister. You don’t let me touch, yet you touch.”

“I did more than touch. I tasted.” I stuck a forkful of pasta into my mouth and hummed. “A little salty, but that’s not a bad thing.”

Grumbling, he started to eat. I could feel his eyes flickering back to me again and again; eventually, I turned to him, fork poised in the air.

“What now?”

“Not fair.” He mumbled.

“Satan below.” I sighed. “Well? How do I make it even?”

He shrugged, picking idly at a roasted tomato. Picking up my wine, I considered for a long moment what I should do.

Papa watched, eyebrow raising, as I set the glass down again, my hands reaching under the table once more. This time, I began to hitch up the hemline of my dress - just enough that I could slip my thumbs under the waistband of the underwear and pull them off, adjusting in my seat so they slid down my thighs. I almost dropped them and had a minute of blind panic - they were so tiny a light breeze would have picked them up and carried them across the restaurant. Unceremoniously, I pushed them into his hand and then grabbed my fork to keep eating. The pasta was really good. He had great taste.

“Cara mia.” He moaned quietly, tightening his fist around them where they lay on his lap.

“I’m gonna end up eating all of this if you don’t hurry up.” I scolded. He nodded once, but his grip on the panties did not let up through the entire meal.

Papa mostly picked at the food, his eyes flickering over to me at every opportunity while I did my best to pretend like I didn’t notice. As soon as we pushed the cleared plate away the waitress reappeared, smiling over at Papa.

“Everything okay?”

“Bene.” He nodded. Under the table, his foot was tapping impatiently. Smirking, I reached for the wine glass for a drink.

The waitress gathered up the plate and our cutlery, head tilting to regard us.

“Any dessert tonight?”

“I’m stuffed.” I shrugged.

“I find something to eat later.” Papa’s eyes were on me. I drank a few mouthfuls quickly, cheeks flushing. Giggling, she bobbed her head.

“Of course. Let me bring you the bill.”

She left, and I couldn’t help sneaking my hand back under the table to rub his thigh. He growled softly, jaw flexing.

“Cara mia,” He muttered. “You think the driver man would mind if I had you in the back seat?”

“He might not, but I would. It’s Valentine’s Day, not a teenager’s first date. You’re not fucking me in the car. Didn’t you say you had something planned for when we got back, anyway?” My hand drifted further up just to pass a finger over his cock ever so lightly before moving back to his knee, patting it.

“Patience is a virtue.” He grunted, smoothing back his hair. “And I have no virtues, cara.”

The waitress returned with some mints and a small silver platter with the bill - I didn’t have to look to know it would be grossly overpriced, but Papa dug in his pocket for a card and tossed it down like it was nothing.

“Take half per cento.”

She looked a little confused. I drained my glass.

“He says to take a fifty percent tip.”

Her face lit up at that and she beamed at him.

“So kind, sir! Thank you!”

Papa was busy finishing off the rest of his wine, throat contracting as he gulped it down like it was water. He set down the glass and smiled up at her, then made to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand - bursting into giggles, he shrugged.

“Oh, this is not a fancy thing to do. Scusami.”

I watched in abject horror as he lifted my underwear and patted them over his lips like a napkin, smiling placidly when he finished and tucked them into his pocket. The waitress’ jaw slowly dropped, and I nudged the silver platter towards her urgently.

“Take an eighty percent tip.”


	5. Confessional Sex - P3/CC

It was only the Cardinal’s fifth or so time doing confessional since his transfer, and it wasn’t seeming to get any easier. The listening part was fine. That part he could do. But there always seemed to be an awkward moment when the confessor would finish, and he would have to speak - obviously. And every single time, without fail, he stumbled over his words, or just mumbled something about Satan’s will and hope that would do.

He just wasn’t a people person. And every time Sister would phone him to tell him he had to take over confessional duties as Papa Emeritus the Third was too busy, he’d sag in his office chair and try not to sigh too hard.

Today hadn’t been too bad, all things considered. Pretty slow. He’d taken off the biretta and gloves a while ago, folding the gloves neatly into a square and setting them beside him along with the hat. He knew how important confessional was for the Sisters and Brothers of the church - the Dark Lord knows how often he would seek guidance when he was first starting out - but he couldn’t help but think about all the other stuff he could be spending his time on, instead of repeating ‘maybe you should read the manuscripts a bit more closely’ and ‘I’m not a doctor, if it itches that bad, go see the nurse’.

In the lull between confessors, Copia leaned back on the wall, twisting his fingers over and over. He had so much paperwork to catch up on. A few books he could read. That text Imperator and Nihil wanted translating. And he had to fit in dinner sometime in between all that. Perhaps he could eat while he worked, but what if he got something on the text? Ancient Satanic ritual scrolls and arrabiata sauce wasn’t a good mix.

So engrossed in planning his evening, Copia didn’t even notice the door beginning to slide open until a chink of light fell over his face. He froze, blinking rapidly; white gloves curled around the door, sliding it open further and further until a white eye gleamed out at him.

“Buonasera, Cardinal.”

Even though Papa was smiling, a chill ran down Copia’s back at the sound of his voice. Sitting up straight, he stared at the man for a few seconds before managing to scrape some words together.

“B-buonasera, Your Dark Excellency.”

“So formal, Cardinal.”

Papa slipped into the booth despite there not being much space for him to do so, turning his back to place the door back into position. Then, he just stared at Copia for a long, agonising minute.

Fingers knotting in front of him as if in penance, Copia swallowed.

“Have I… Have I done something wrong, Your Dark -”

“Don’t call me this.” Papa tutted, chuckling a little. “So formal. Papa is fine. Nothing wrong, Cardinal - I am here to, ah, supervise.”

He was crushed so close to him in the confines of the booth his knees were touching Copia’s. This was going to be a very intimate supervision.

“Right.” Copia muttered, brow beginning to knit. Papa chuckled, and then glanced around, foot knocking into the wall.

“Small.” He remarked, and Copia just nodded. He’d never heard of a supervised confessional before. Had he been doing a bad job? He guess he could use the guidance - he’d never met anyone as charismatic as Papa.

But Papa was acting a little strangely, continuously sweeping back his hair, breathing a little erratic.

“I… I must say - I’m not aware confessional could be supervised…”

“Oh, yes. All the time. Also, I am bored.”

Papa sat on the floor at Copia’s feet, and the Cardinal could not believe it. He made to stand to offer him his seat or something, but Papa planted a hand on his knee and glared up at him.

“This is silly. Fine here. Andiamo, Cardinal.”

Belial. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening, but there was no time for further protest - someone spoke in the booth beside them, and it was time for Copia to show Papa what he could do.

And of course, he failed fucking miserably. Doing it on his own was bad enough, but doing it in front of Papa? Who was staring up at him with a completely unreadable expression? He was even more of a mess than usual, stammering, getting verses mixed up, just generally doing a terrible job of being a senior Clergyman.

Once the confessor left, Papa tutted, and Copia wanted to die.

“You are nervous. Stress?”

“Definitely.” Copia muttered, hands wringing before him. Papa sucked his teeth then, and peeled off his gloves with little ceremony, fanning himself with them.

“Hot, hm?”

Copia nodded, watching, eyes widening - Papa got up onto his knees and stretched out his back with an elegant arch, then turned so he was facing Copia, elbows resting on his knees. He smiled sweetly - Copia breathed out shakily. What the hell was going on?

“Very bored today.” Papa remarked. “My hands - too much free time.”

At the back of his brain, something scoffed - so Copia had all this work to do, but Papa was running bored due to having no responsibilities? Great. But other than that, he was acutely aware of Papa’s hand resting on his thigh like it was nothing.

“I help you with this, Cardinal?”

“W-with confessional?” Copia choked, and after a beat, Papa nodded slowly, a small smile slicking across his face.

“Sure.”

A Sister’s voice rang out through the grate, and Papa breathed in gently. As soon as she stopped speaking, he made a noise like he was interested, his fingers drumming onto Copia’s thigh.

“A big problem for now, Sister, but actually quite small.”

He spoke so easily, probably barely even thinking about it. The right words flowed from his lips like honey and lilted through the grate to the waiting Sister, while the hand began to massage into Copia’s large thigh. Lips parting, he breathed in sharply, but Papa ignored him, his golden voice continuing to paint a picture until the Sister left, happy.

“See? Easy.” Papa smiled at Copia, who couldn’t tear his eyes away from that hand rubbing soothing circles into his thigh. Pretty soon the second one joined it on the other leg, thumbs digging down into his flesh.

“You are stressed, yes?”

The Cardinal shrugged, hands squeezing together tightly. Papa tutted, eyes flickering between what his hands were doing and Copia’s face.

“They ask you to do confessional but I’m free. Silly. You need a break.”

Papa’s hand crept onto his crotch, and Copia didn’t know where to look - instead, he just closed his eyes, breath hitching. His body came to life embarrassingly quickly - he didn’t have much free time to himself these days to look after himself, so to speak, and the neglected body part thickened and throbbed with hot blood at the first touches of Papa’s deft fingers.

“Papa takes care of you.” Papa whispered, eyes shining at the man’s growing girth. The Cardinal was squirming so easily so quickly - poor thing. Even just touching the pad of his fingertip to his head through the fabric was enough to make him buck slightly, breath whistling between his teeth. His cock grew harder with every caress and - to Papa’s delight - bigger, thick enough that his pants barely contained him anymore.

Just as he was struggling to get the zip undone over the massive bulge, someone else was speaking in the booth beside them - and although Copia was already too far gone to even think about saying something, Papa chatted back to them as if everything was ordinary, and he wasn’t pulling his second in command’s dick out, biting his lip to hide a pleased smile at its weight in his hand.

“Papa? I thought it was the Cardinal doing confessional today.”

“He has a - how you say this - a task. So I do this for now.”

That seemed to be enough for her. She rambled on listlessly while Papa made encouraging noises to show he was listening - in reality, his eyes were fixed on the thick cock just inches from his face, watching his hand travel up and down it in long, slow strokes that had the Cardinal gasping into his fist. And it was still getting bigger. Just the sight of it made Papa’s own cock throb - he’d been half hard all afternoon, completely unable to sate the ache in his gut without having someone else.

“Tell me sister, the time?”

“Five to seven.” She chirped.

Five minutes until confessional was over, then. Perfect. Papa grinned, hand tightening around Copia’s shaft until he hissed quietly.

“Grazie, sister.”

With that, she left, and Papa was alone with Copia once more. Hand still moving rhythmically over him, he smirked when he noticed Copia’s hips beginning to rock with the movements, the stool scraping on the floor.

“I make a confession now.” Papa muttered, gazing up at the Cardinal. “I get bored, my hands go in my pants. Demon blood, yes? And today, all day, I am bored. But I can’t…. Ah…”

Pausing his speech momentarily, Papa just had to lean in and catch a drop of precum leaking from Copia’s cock, his tongue flickering over the sensitive webbing underneath. Copia groaned into his fist, eyes screwed closed. Papa himself moaned at the taste of his salt, licking his lips feverishly.

“This is my favourite.” He whispered hoarsely. “I have… I have the toys, you know? I try it with them. Stuff them in my throat. But it’s no good. It has to be… the real…”

Papa leaned in to suck on the head, a low moan rumbling in his throat as he started to swallow Copia down. The Cardinal’s teeth were threatening to break the skin of his hand; he couldn’t look at Papa while he was doing this, so all he could feel was that warm, wet pressure sinking further and further down his cock. At one point, Papa paused to manoeuvre his jaw into the correct position, cheeks puffed from the effort of taking such a thick girth into his throat, but then he continued to swallow him down until his nose was pressing into the curled hairs at the base, eyes watering. Saliva dribbled over his lower lip as he held himself like that until his lungs burned; then he pulled up just as slowly, stopping to work his tongue over the flushed tip, lapping up the precum that leaked so readily from the slit.

“Taste so good.” He mumbled. “Want to taste your cum, Cardinal.”

Papa’s lips were so impossibly soft. They were like velvet, wrapping around Copia’s head with just the right amount of suction to make his toes curl. Now that his length was wet with spit, Papa could easily bob himself up and down, fist twisting repeatedly at the base of the shaft. Copia’s hands planted on the walls either side of him; gasping, he shook his head slightly, fingers scratching into the grain of the wood. He couldn’t - in Papa’s - ? Surely not - ?

When he dared glance down, he saw that Papa had taken his own cock out, shoulder shaking as he rubbed himself furiously. The little grunts and groans rumbling in his throat felt indescribably divine; Copia whined, and although he didn’t want to taint his Dark Pope by doing something as dirty as cumming in his mouth, he couldn’t help thrusting his hips so his cock slid between those needy lips.

“Papa…” He whispered desperately, feeling the climb starting to build.

“So big.” Papa gasped, handing moving to stroke him while he gave his aching jaw a break. “A-another time, Cardinal, you come to my bedroom, yes?”

Copia couldn’t speak. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I want to feel this…” Papa punctuated his statement with a little squeeze. “… inside. So big. You are rough?”

“N-no -”

“What if I ask you to be?” Papa murmured, lips wrapping back around the head. Copia jolted, nails curling into the wood, head tipping back as the build hit dangerously high.

“A-ah - Papa -”

His lower lip on the underside of the head, his hand working tirelessly over the length, Papa milked the hot, salty cum into his mouth, groaning as his own stomach twisted, too strung up on lust to do anything but suck as much of Copia’s cum between his lips as he could. Copia gasped and writhed at the overstimulation of Papa’s vice-like grip, hips snapping up as he rode it out.

Groaning at the taste, it didn’t take long for Papa to push himself over the edge, eyes rolling as his hand travelled over himself, cum spilling down his hand.

Still trying to catch his breath, Copia watched, dumbstruck, Papa bring his hand to his mouth to lick it clean, eyes fixed on the Cardinal’s as he did so. He tucked himself back into his pants and got to his feet, sighing contentedly as he fished his gloves from his pocket.

“Better. Much better.” Papa smiled over at him. “Always good to confess.”


	6. Backstage with the Ghouls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made a dumb post on tumblr.hell and then wrote it. You fuck the Ghouls.

It’s your first day on the job. No uniform was specified, but for the sake of ease, you chose a black silk robe and nothing else. Easy on, easy off, you reasoned.

You are sequestered away backstage in some drab little dressing room with nothing but a giant mirror, a battered couch, a few miscellaneous chairs and other bits of furniture bundled together for storage, and a well-stocked mini bar. You can’t tell if it’s nerves or excitement making goosebumps rise over your body, and each time you consider what you’re about to do, a shudder runs through your spine.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the door opening, and the two Ghoulettes entering the little room, holding hands. You hadn’t expected to see them here due to their own relationship, but are happy nonetheless - you’ll enjoy the company, and some conversation will drown out the anxieties swirling in the pit of your stomach.

The Ghoulettes seat themselves either side of you on the sofa. The mini bar is within reaching distance; the taller Ghoul, Cumulus, opens the door to grab a glass bottle of pink lemonade. Your attempts at conversation are not returned, but you feel comfortable around them anyway, relaxing back into the cushions and watching her pop the cap of the bottle with her claw and lift her mask enough so she can drink from it.

Beside you, Cirrus is pressing every closer while you speak - ramble, to be more honest - and the contact of her body has your heart racing faster in your chest. She nods and makes the right noises, but you don’t know if she’s actually listening. One of her hands slips over the fabric of your robe, admiring the sensation of the smooth silk on her fingertips. With little warning, she presses herself against you entirely, squashing you against her frame in a cuddle. Setting the bottle down, Cumulus mirrors her; a Ghoulette hugging you from either side, their infectious giggles in your ears causing you to wriggle and laugh yourself. You aren’t quite sure who’s hand is who’s, but surely you just felt one of them on your breast - but then it’s back around you, squeezing you closer. Your temperature rises quickly between them both, and it becomes clear their touches are less than innocent - in fact, they are very much enjoying having you writhe and thrash against their hungry hands. Cumulus dares to slip her hand under the top of the robe and touch your actual flesh and you jump; her skin is cold from the bottle. She rubs her fingers over your chest until you arch into her touch, then moves it away to hold you again like nothing had happened.

Claws are now gently trailing their way up your thighs and when you glance down you see the fabric of your robe gathering and moving up alongside them. It doesn’t hurt, but seeing the light pink scores on your flesh sends a thrill through your body more than you’d care to admit. You try and push your legs apart for someone to touch you, but then your thighs are neatly closed by two separate hands and the girls just lay with you for a long moment, properly cuddling you this time - but cuddling is the last thing on your mind. Having you hot and needing between them is breaking them down into giggles, and each time you try to move to appease the throb between your legs you are simply pressed further into a hug. Eventually, you give up. Cirrus pushes her masked face into your neck and sighs, her breath warming your skin; Cumulus rests her chin on your head and hums quietly.

You don’t want it to end, but it has to - it’s only fifteen minutes until curtain up, and the girls have preparation to do. Slowly, they untangle themselves from you and jump to their feet. Cirrus bends down to chuck under your chin fondly, and before they leave, Cumulus grabs the half-drank bottle of lemonade and presses it into your hand.

The minutes tick by with no interruptions, and the lemonade is sweet and tart. You are setting the empty bottle down when two Ghouls materialise at once in the doorway, and begin arguing over who’s turn it is. You begin to explain you don’t mind having more than one, but it doesn’t look like they’re keen on sharing. Swiss attempts to swan through the door but Dewdrop grabs his arm and wrenches him back, hissing at him. They argue for so long that Aether appears to usher them away, eyes rolling under the mask as they bitch about each other to him. Dew finally gives in first, storming away in a strop; Swiss catches you staring at this display and with a wink he’s gone too. You smile at Aether and he nods once before disappearing.

You’re on your feet and adjusting the robe when you feel a small tap on your shoulder. When you spin to look you see the other water Ghoul, Rain, who is looking at anything but you. Greeting him, you ask him if there’s anything you can do; he doesn’t move for a moment, but then - hesitantly - his hand reaches for yours and he places your palm against his chest. Inside, his heart is beating fit to burst, pounding against his ribcage, and when you finally get him to look at you you can see the panic burning bright in his eyes. No matter how many rituals he performed, he still got stage fright.

It takes you a moment to consider how you’re going to deal with this. You didn’t want to be doing anything that would increase his heart rate further - the poor Ghoul would go into cardiac arrest. Instead, you push him gently onto the sofa and curl up by his side, pulling his head into your chest and cradling it so you can stroke the top of his head as soothingly as you can. It works, sort of - his eyes close and his heart slows enough that the room isn’t filled with his shallow, terrified breaths, but the body you hold to your own is still tense.

When you shift positions and straddle him, his eyes are wide, but his arms curl around you. You kiss each cheek of his mask and then your lips find his ear; you begin to whisper praise to him, and the effect is immediate. Hearing that he has no reason to be worried because he’s one of the best players - your favourite, in fact - has him pulling you closer to him, his hands falling to grab your hips. In the same quiet tone, you tell him you heard somewhere he’s Copia’s favourite. That Copia said he was the best bassist they’ve ever had, and that he was super proud of him for doing so well. It takes you a minute to notice but he’s grinding his hips into you, trembling, head tilted completely so he can hear your words. You massage at his shoulders and neck as you speak, and the rigidity of his muscles slowly dissolves with every pass of your hands. He would probably sit there all day with you on him whispering such nice things to him, but he has a show to go to - you feel a happy shiver wrack his body as you call him a good boy and climb off him, and he bounds off.

After that, nothing more; you can hear the music and physically feel the bass trembling the floorboards. Each time you accidentally touch your own skin it’s like a fire ignites in that spot, and you are finding it increasingly harder not to think about the two Ghoulettes and their roaming hands again. You wish they’d went further, and not left you in such a mess. Having Rain grind uncontrollably against you didn’t help, either - you wish you’d had more time to see to him properly before the show.

There isn’t a lot to do in the room. You spend some time going through the mini fridge, and help yourself to another bottle of pink lemonade, leaving two more so the Ghoulettes could have them later if they wanted. You’re on your phone for a bit, and then get up to check yourself in the mirror, shifting the robe about on your body.

Then, it’s the interval. The door almost comes off its hinges and Dew storms in, closing it behind him quickly. He beckons you over, and when you approach you can see how wild his eyes are, his body racing with adrenaline from the show. A few seconds later Swiss pokes his head around the door, but Dew flips him a middle finger triumphantly and he closes it again.

You aren’t quite sure what to do with yourself, but Dew knows exactly what he wants. He strips the robe from you; you don’t have time to feel exposed or self conscious because he’s leading you to the sofa, sitting you down and encouraging you onto your hands and knees. You go to look back at him but with a grunt he fists your hair and pulls your head back straight, so you look straight ahead, tingling with anticipation. The sofa sags behind you and you hear a zipper come undone; then, with surprising tenderness, two wet fingers slick over you. You’ve been wet since your encounter with the Ghoulettes, and he grunts again in approval. Pulling your feet apart, he settles between them; you feel his cock rub against your ass before he guides it down and into you, jerking his hips so he fills you in one motion. Your hiss is mirrored by his; forced to look ahead, you can only wait and see what he chooses to do to you as he fucks you relentlessly, pouring the overstimulation of energy of the show into his every thrust so that you rock forwards. He drags you back with the hand curling into your hip; his breathing becomes quicker until he’s panting, whining quietly in his throat. The claws of his free hand sear over your spine and you wince; it’s not enough to break the skin, but it’s still deliciously painful. You know better than to touch yourself so you just allow him to use you as he needs to, closing your eyes and listening to the little animalistic noises he can’t stop from escaping his lips.

Dew pulls himself out before he’s done, but you soon feel hot liquid splatter over your ass. You glance back; he’s jerking his cock onto you, milking every last drop out of himself so it’s glistening on your skin. He rubs his hand through it, breathing hard, glad he was the first to mark you. He catches you looking, and with deliberate showmanship he sticks out his tongue, bringing his hand to his mouth so he can slowly lick it clean. He lands a final smack on your ass before putting himself away and heading for the door, still kitten-licking his hand.

Swiss had been waiting patiently outside the whole time, and he waits even longer until you gesture him in. His hands in his pockets, his voice low and relaxed, he seems as casual as anything - but you notice the bulge of his hard cock in his pants, even though he’s acting like it’s not there. You allude to helping him out, but he simply shrugs, motioning for you to sit down.

Swiss has a very different way of going about this, but just like Dew, he knows what he wants. You can’t quite believe it when he settles on his knees in front of you, idly palming himself through his pants while he looks up at you. You haven’t even had a chance to put the robe back on, and your cheeks are burning at having him so close to a very needy part of yourself. With one hand, he undoes his flies, the other lifting up the mask enough that you can see his mouth and jaw; full, parted lips that he wets with a slow flick of his forked tongue, surrounded by short stubble. With little ceremony he presses his tongue to you, lapping up your wetness with a quiet moan. One hand holds your thigh to keep you spread so you’re as open to him as possible. The shoulder of his left hand is moving lazily, and you know beyond your sight he’s stroking himself off to this. You don’t dare put your hand anywhere near the mask so you set your shaky hands either side of you on the sofa, eyes closing at the sensation of his deft tongue flickering around you. When he lightly sucks on your clit, you groan - and he chuckles in response, rolling his tongue around it over and over while you buck and squirm, his stubble scratching against the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. Unconsciously, you begin to beg - and the sound of his name being breathed like a prayer has him stroking himself faster, his tongue searching for where to please you best. He knows when he’s got you - when your back arches and your toes curl and your legs kick as the pressure builds in your stomach. Sweat is slicking your forehead from the effort of chasing it; you glance down and see his eyes have been fixed on you the whole time, watching each thrash of your body, each gasp and groan. He’s so good at this that he has you coming undone in minutes; you wriggle and rock against his mouth as he patiently laps at you, keeping your orgasm going for as long as he can before you have to gently push his eager mouth away from your overstimulated skin. Seeing you flushed and happy, and hearing you thank him - his own eyes flutter closed and he grunts as he comes; you can’t resist reaching over and stroking over the top of his head. When he’s done, and got himself situated, he leans in and - unexpectedly - presses a scorching kiss to your lips. His tongue brushes over yours, and you can taste yourself on him.

He leaves you breathless but happy on the sofa, giving you the same wink before he leaves. No one else turns up, and you’re glad - you need a break already. You pad out to the bathroom and lock yourself in to see the damage Dew has done. A trail of red lines along your entire spine, and patches of beard burn from Swiss’ jaw on either side of your inner thighs. All things considered, not too bad for encounters with Ghouls.

You’re so engrossed with your phone that you don’t even notice the show is over, or that Earth has been standing there, panting, for a good few moments. He’s absolutely soaked in sweat and looks exhausted; you usher him to take a seat, and he all but collapses. He’s too breathless to speak, but as soon as you sit down beside him he takes your hands and pushes it under the waistband of his pants; you wrap your hand around the base of his hard dick and begin to stroke, and his head falls back against the sofa, chest heaving. After a few seconds you take him out properly, and he’s big enough that you can get both hands around him. Falling into a rhythm, he rocks his hips up in time with each downwards twist of your hands. You notice that leaving your thumb to play with the head has him gasping, and soon he’s slick with precum, hands tightening into fists either side of him as he fucks himself between your hands. You wonder if he’s going to do anything more to you, but the poor thing seems completely worn out; the last of his effort from the night - rising the last wave of the high from completing the ritual - is spent grinding between your fists until his come spurts over your fingers and he arches his back with a groan.

He’s kind enough to grab you some tissues and help you clean your hands up; you can still hear how he’s slightly breathless, his breath coming quickly between parted lips. He goes to kiss the top of your head and bumps the mask into it clumsily; cringing, he shrugs hopelessly, and you laugh, telling him to go lay down and get some rest. He settles for holding your hand briefly before slipping away.

You weren’t expecting the largest Ghoul to make an appearance, but when he sits himself down you realise he’d probably be the one who needed it most; head Ghoul-wrangler and all around babysitter, Aether looks tired, but he holds out his arms to you. You clamber onto his lap and get to work unbuttoning his shirt until his broad chest is exposed, nuzzling into it. His hand combs through your hair, and you feel like you could curl up and sleep on his lap. He watches with interest as you take out his half-hard cock and begin to play with it, resting it against your abdomen as you stroke it to life. He’s even bigger than Earth, and the sight of it sets your body on fire once more; you sit up and stroke the large head against yourself until it’s slick enough, and then slowly push it inside, breathing hard. Aether’s head rolls back but he doesn’t stop watching you, his large hands coming to rest on your waist as you continue to sink down onto him. When he’s buried inside you completely, you feel almost uncomfortably full - you take a minute to adjust, and he understands, his hands lightly grazing up and down your sides while he waits. They tighten slightly as you begin to move, and all too soon his breath is coming in quick pants, his body rocking up to meet yours as you dutifully fuck yourself onto him. Your hands travel over his chest and up to his shoulders, using them as purchase so you can slam yourself down onto him, teeth clenched in effort. You’ve never taken anyone as big as him before, and you can’t believe how much you love it. Watching your hand slide down your front to touch yourself, Aether moans and presses his forehead into yours, his eyes fixed on your own. He wants to watch you come undone on top of him like this, and you speed up your pace, riding him so he slides into you deep and quick. His grip on your hips threatens to break the skin; he’s bouncing you on his lap, small moans muffled by the mask, marvelling at how well you take him.

He comes when you do. The feeling of you clenching and shaking around him is too much, and his eyes roll as he buries himself inside you to empty himself, hips snapping, strong arms still moving you up and down even though your legs turned to jelly seconds ago. You collapse against his chest, sighing, and he gently runs his hand over your back. Takes a second look. Mutters a certain other Ghoul’s name; you nod, and he sighs deeply, lightly squeezing your shoulders.

He lets you lay on him for a while, fingertips grazing lazily over your skin, until you get some strength back and climb off him, curling up on the sofa. After making sure you’re okay, he wipes his mess from your thighs with some tissues and helps you back into the robe.

Noticing how tired you are, he mentions that he’s heading back to the tour bus - would you come? You look like you need the rest, and there was always spare beds on board. You pause for a moment. You were supposed to go back to a separate hotel room, but you didn’t think you had the energy to travel too far.

Besides, being on a tour bus filled with Ghouls? What’s the worst that could happen?


	7. The Summoning - Copia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You summon an incubus to help you with your problem.

_Master, Uncreator, Old One;_

_Satan, in your name, I plea_

_I rebuke the Father and his Son_

_I beg you, hear of me_

_Ethereal veil fall thin_

_I spill my blood in candlelight_

_Hear me, feel my sin_

_Send me what I need tonight_

Seated inside the circle of black salt you’ve laid reverently onto the floor, you peer over at the dusty almanac, barely visible in the dim light of the red candles. You mumble the incantation twice more, the light reflecting off the small vial you have poised over the flame. A drop of blood swells on the rim, growing fatter and fatter until it drips over the edge and plummets into the candle flame.

The fire suddenly explodes high, flashing bright purple and blue directly in your face; you tumble backwards in shock, scrambling through the black salt.

You watch the flame sputter and hiss. It seems to have sapped all the light out of the room; heart pounding, you wonder if this was a good idea.

Then, the candle returns to normal. The smell of frankincense rouses you from your stupor, and you slowly turn your head.

A man stands a few feet away, his dark eyes burning into you. Though you are still somewhat blinded from the sudden light, your own eyes adjust eventually and you can take him in.

He’s quite stocky, and mostly a silhouette from what you can make out of him. One of his eyes glows out at you, a white light shining in a deep pit in his face.

“Good evening.” His voice has an accent that makes you shiver; he bows slightly, and it’s only then you notice the cane. You’ve been too busy studying the tight white outfit he’s wearing. It leaves very little to the imagination. Your gaze sweeps up the cane, the gloved hand resting on it, up to his face. Lined with wrinkles. The eyes are quite disconcerting, too.

The man frowns at your silence, stiffening. You see the muscles of his legs tighten under the fabric.

“What?”

He’s not at all what you expected. When you’d decided to summon an incubus as a last resort to solve your little problem, you couldn’t lie and pretend you didn’t have a preconception of what you wanted. Horns. Muscles. Build like he could throw you over his shoulder, and fuck you until he broke.

This guy, though not unattractive, was not entirely your type, either.

He extends a gloved hand to you to help you up, which you accept, your bare feet crunching on the spilt black salt.

“I can only thank you for summoning me tonight; it is so lovely to get a change of sc… scenery…”

Tailing off, his eyes wander over you. You’re wearing a sheer black robe and nothing else, and your thighs are slick with wetness. Blinking a few times, he clears his throat.

“What -”

“Hush a second.” You interrupt him, quite rudely, but the pulse between your legs is growing worse every second. You can barely think straight, but you focus yourself long enough to look at him properly.

Your hand reaches out, and then pauses.

“Can I touch you?”

The man chuckles, bowing his head once more.

“You summoned me, you do as you wish to me.”

“Great. What do I call you?”

“The Dark Lord bestowed the name ‘Copia’ upon me -”

“Copia? Great. Take your clothes off, Copia.”

More blinking. He watches you mop the sweat from your forehead, and then he smiles slightly, holding out the cane to you.

Not breaking eye contact, you take it from him, and watch as the gloves are slid from his hands. The cane is cold in your sweaty palms; you twist your hands around it tighter as he tucks the black gloves into his pocket, and quickly undoes the buttons on his front. Underneath is a black shirt - once he shrugs the jacket from his shoulders, the black fabric joins it on your floor.

He’s not at all what you expected. Though he’s well built, there’s quite a lot of extra weight on him. And he’s hairy. Not what you usually go for - but when you toss his cane aside carelessly and walk over to skim your hands over his chest, a heat drips into your gut, somehow making you even wetter than before. You didn’t think that was possible.

“Copia.” You mutter. “I have a big problem. You’re gonna help me with it.”

“Yes.” He replies. You can’t quite see his eyes where they are sunk into those strange hollows, but you can feel them on you. Your fingers curl into his chest hair and you huff, eyes flickering down - suddenly, you can’t stop touching him, your breath hitching in your throat.

He isn’t what you expected, but he’s exactly what you need.

Something you didn’t even know you liked until now; groaning, you pull away to shell your robe, the cold night air doing nothing to cool your feverish skin.

“Off.” You rasp. His hands go for his zipper, while you go and settle yourself on the bed, heart racing with anticipation.

You don’t get to see him properly before he’s on you, resting himself between your legs with his elbows either side of your head.

“What do you need?” He whispers, and you groan, turning your face away from those intense eyes of his momentarily. How do you even begin to explain the gnawing ache that’s been ruining your life for the past few days? Growing and growing until it consumed you completely? No amount of touching yourself or mortal men had been able to sate it. What you needed was to fuck this out of your system once and for all.

He’s not surprised when you press insistently at him; he turns onto his back and you clamber atop him, straddling his lap just below his crotch. Hands on his stomach, one reaches up to circle his throat, the other moving down to touch his cock.

Groaning, you try and wrap your hand around the base of it; it’s so thick, and hot enough that it feels like it’s searing your fingers. As you stroke up you can feel the thick veins under the skin, throbbing slightly; a bead of precum pools at the slit and trickles down over your hand; it happens each time you squeeze. He’s going to make a mess of your bedsheets. You don’t care.

Exactly what you need.

“Holy fuck.” You whimper. He’s relaxed back, just watching you. He probably knows it’s best not to get in your way right now. The only reaction he gives is a quiet moan, a little shift of his hips, as you move yourself over him, his cock gliding between you. With a little adjustment your clit is grinding directly on the underside of his thick shaft. You’re being far too loud but it feels too fucking good; you pause to grind it directly against his tip, coaxing a low groan from deep in his chest. The sound of his pleasure only heightens your own; you want more from him, as much as possible, as soon as possible.

No further foreplay is necessary. You’ve been soaking wet for hours, and his dick is slick with his own pre anyway; your fingers slide over it when you grab it again, lifting yourself up to work the tip against yourself.

Copia’s hands rest on your waist as you begin to sink down, hissing at how much he’s stretching you already. Just getting the head inside is a challenge; you pause to gasp in lungfuls of the night air, tossing your head back.

“Fuck.” You hiss. “It’s so much.”

“It’s what you need.”

He’s fucking right. With each inch you take the pressure in your gut intensifies. Your chin tucked to your chest, all you can focus on is the feeling of his thick cock stretching you open so completely, filling you up entirely. Once you have him all stuffed inside of you, you feel almost unbearably full. Whimpering, you sit still for a minute, thankful to feel his hands rub soothingly at your sides.

With your first experimental movement, you’re surprised to hear him moan; it rings out, deep and rumbly, his back arching - and it only sets you off further. Slowly, thighs flexing, you bring yourself back up almost completely and then slide down at the same pace, your hands on his chest so you can watch him. His eye doesn’t bother you anymore. You’ve decided you like his face.

It’s like he can read your thoughts. You’re thinking about how delicious his noises are, how good it is to feel his hands grab at you; and suddenly his moaning gets louder, his grip more desperate. It all serves to make you hotter, and the part of your brain that isn’t completely fogged with lust realises it’s what he’s built to do.

You need to fuck a man senseless tonight, so that’s what he’s here for.

His back arches as he tries to push himself into you, breath catching in his throat. When you lean back, bracing yourself on his large thighs, his hand slides down your front so his thumb can circle your clit.

He coaxes an orgasm from you easily; it tears through you, bringing waves of pleasure - that do little to sate you. It helps a little, but it isn’t enough. Not yet.

You pull off him completely, leaning down to press your body on top of his. His skin is unnaturally warm, but it’s pleasant enough; you cup his face in your hands and pout at him.

“Copia.” You whisper. Your thumb sweeps over his mouth, dragging down on his plump lower lip. “You have nice lips, you know that?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks up at you, ever patient. You move your hips up his body, further and further until you’re practically sitting on his chest - you can feel his hair on the bottom of your thighs. Your hands slide up into his hair.

“I like your face.” You whisper, and he nods. His tongue drags over his lips, already swollen and flushed. You can’t help moaning, moving further to straddle his shoulders. His hands come to grip your thighs, urging you on. You grab onto the headboard for support and gaze down at him; Copia opens his mouth, eyes crinkling as he pushes out the flat of his tongue.

As soon as you make contact with it he moans heavily, crushing you down against his mouth; you ride his face urgently, each pass of your hips pressing your clit over his tongue, his nose. His moustache is quickly wet, and the sensation of it scrubbing against you is strange but not unpleasant. His lips lock around your clit and he sucks gently, nails scoring your flesh, little groans spilling from his throat - he can barely breathe, judging by the rasps, but he doesn’t let up, not for a second. When you look down at him his eyes are fluttering and rolling, his chest heaving behind you. Fingers tight in his hair, you fuck yourself down onto his face hard, past caring if he could breathe or not; it’s building again, and it’s all you can think about.

A series of slurred praises tumble from your lips; you cum hard on his tongue, throwing your head back to crow out your rapture. His name tastes sweet on your lips.

You look down at him breathlessly, lifting yourself up enough that he can suck in some air himself. You pet at his hair, and he smiles a little; you can see how wet his chin is, slick from your arousal.

“Copia.” His hair is smooth and soft under your fingers, and he moves into your touch. You speak his name again and his eyes open, that one white light beaming up at you expectantly.

“I’m gonna get on my back.” You whisper. “And you’re going to get on top of me. You’re gonna put your cock inside of me, and then you’re gonna fuck me until I can’t walk.”

With that, you climb off him. He’s quick to get into position, pressing you down into the mattress with the weight of his body. He brushes your sweaty hair off your face while you run your hands over his back, wrapping your legs around his body. Reaching down, he guides himself back inside of you - it’s intense, but not as much as before. His head tilts as he gauges your reaction, humming quietly as you shift and writhe underneath him.

And then, he starts to fuck you.

Each thrust hits inside of you almost unbearably deep, jolting you up the bed slightly, and each time a strangled grunt leaves your throat. With shaking hands, you reach down his body and grab his ass, feeling the firm muscles flex as he drives his cock into you relentlessly. Just like you asked him to.

The bulk of his stomach is pressing down against you in such a way that his weight is putting pressure onto your clit; with every movement he’s bringing you closer. It’s so easy for him, and so good for you.

“I needed this.” You moan and he hums, nodding away.

“I know.” His tone is sing-song, almost condescending, but it makes your heart flutter. You nod too, lips pursing, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

“It’s okay.” He murmurs. He’s speaking completely evenly, as if he’s not currently fucking you so hard it’s knocking the air from your lungs.

Face contracting, you whimper helplessly, wheezing a little.

“Don’t - don’t you wanna cum?”

His lips come down and graze over your nose. He’s being so sweet - it’s a complete contrast to how rough he’s going. You can’t help but cling to him, becoming more enamored by him with every passing second.

“Not until you’re happy.” He mumbles, and a flash of electricity storms down your spine. You moan, head tipping back - he layers gentle kisses onto your throat until you look at him again.

“Is that how this works?” You gasp.

“It’s how I work.”

“Fuck.” You whimper.

Your gut is tightening again. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s not going to stop anytime soon.


	8. Copia's Cape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cardinal Copia likes the new cape.

Initially, the Cardinal didn’t see the sleek, black box that had been placed on his bed. Lost among the black silk of his sheets, it lay unnoticed while he hung up his coat and hat, rotating his sore shoulders a few times - spending days hunched over a desk wasn’t great for your back.

As he passed the foot of the bed he paused, a little confused, a little excited. He didn’t often get presents; if anything, he would gently refuse to accept the few that came his way. Gloved hands traced over the ribbon tie, pulling it apart with reverence while his heart fluttered in his chest. As soon as he lifted the lid, he realised exactly what it was, and couldn’t help smiling a little.

It really was better than he had expected: he picked it up carefully by the shoulders and pulled it out of the box, the folded fabric cascading free as he lifted it. The craftsmanship was divine - hand sewn slip stitches on the seams so the pieces of fabric melted together; painstaking embroidery of salvaged Victorian mourning pieces over the shoulders; a shining silver clasp holding it together. Looking closer, the Cardinal could see the seamstress had embroidered small Grucifixes along the edging - the exact same colour thread as the fabric, practically invisible unless you were right before it.

It had a good weight to it. Holding it up with one hand, Copia slowly undid the clasp at the front - inside, it was lined with red silk, finer than even the kind he slept in. And even though he was wearing gloves, the coolness of the silk wisped over his hot fingers when he trailed them over the lining in admiration. It was such a beautiful piece; so much so that he was hesitant to put it on his body. This was a garment of pure self indulgence, which he rarely allowed himself - a mad moment of whim when making his order to the seamstress for his ritual clothing, a hastily scribbled addendum tacked to the back of the official form.

The weight was good on his shoulders; heavy enough so it wouldn’t shift, light enough that it was comfortable to move around in. Clasp re-fastened, he looked down at himself, swallowed inside the black finery. When he moved, the beading continuously caught the light, twinkling like stars on his night black cloak.

For a while he just stood, marvelling at it. It fit him like a glove, and the ability to shroud himself like this was actually raising his confidence enough that he found himself ambling over to the full length mirror for a proper look. He kept his eyes on the reflection of the garment, ignoring his face looming above it. So sleek, so beautiful; his reflected hands travelled over the front lapels a few times, smoothing them down against his body, mismatched eyes fixed on the movement of the fabric on him. His breathing was now a little erratic, hands sliding down and coming to rest on either side of his thighs as he stared. 

Copia imagined wearing it during a ritual. He knew the church members liked his other outfits, but this was something completely new - his brain, though a little scattered, could easily picture walking out wearing it for the first time. The reaction. The shouts. People reaching up to try and touch it, to see if the silk was as soft as it looked. Sweeping about with it on, floating around his body as he paced… in his mind’s eye he was already there, gazing out at a hysterical crowd all clamouring and rushing to get out their cameras, and though he was quite a terribly awkward person and pictures weren’t his best moments for some strange reason the thought of that sent a shudder through his entire body, spine tingling with electricity - he sort of notices he’s been rubbing himself through his tight black pants, and also sort of chooses not to think about it. The friction is good. The crowd is good. Is this what the other Papas felt like? Copia was not an egotistical man (despite what his stage performance had led many to believe), but he cannot deny the thrill pulsing in his veins with every clench of his heart. 

His cock is hard, straining painfully against the tight fabric, but he didn’t risk pausing the motion of his hand to take it out - he wanted to stay in the fantasy. Lips parted, breathing hard, Copia chased the vision. Lucifer, he couldn’t wait to get out there. And the fact that he would be out there, soon, and this little power trip would actually be played out night after night -

A soft, desperate little moan falls from his lips; his gloved hand is squeezing along the length of his thick cock, the friction of the fabric on his hot, needy skin almost unbearably good. Would… would someone let him have them in the cape? His hand quickened, hips working to grind his cock into his palm. Imagining him, fully clothed, in the cape. Someone else, entirely nude - they pull him over by the lapels and beg him for it, too feverish with lust to even let him undress, their hand sliding down and over his cock -

He wasn’t expecting it at all, and his orgasm hit him like a slap in the face; shuddering, he buckled forward to grip on the edge of the mirror, hips still grinding his throbbing bulge into his hand desperately, little grunts and moans falling from his mouth as he rode it out - so good, so fucking _good_. 

It’s not until his heart beat slows back to normal and the last dregs of pleasure fade from his system he realises what he’s done. He’d cum so hard a wet patch darkened his mid thigh, his glove sticky with his mess. Immediately, the Cardinal is mortified, staring at his soiled glove, heart racing. Mismatched eyes slowly drift from the mess to the mirror; the wet stain on his thigh, the glint of silver and beading on his shoulders, the hint of red silk when he shifts his feet.

He’d definitely have to find someone who would let him have them in the cape.


	9. Sleepover with the Ghoulettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghoulettes find you interesting.

When you had suggested a sleepover to the Ghoulettes, this wasn’t quite what you had in mind. 

Cirrus was kneeling beside you on the bed, excited hands tugging up at the hem of your pyjama top - Cumulus, between your legs, already had your pyjama pants off and was pulling your thighs apart quicker than you could react, her fingers smoothing over the wet patch on your underwear. You’re flushed, they’re giggling, hands travelling all over you. 

You’d become chatty with the girls backstage after you’d noticed no one else really took the time to speak to them. They’d talk together, voices low, muttering inside jokes and little secrets to each other. It had taken them a while to warm up to you but as soon as they realised you had no ulterior motive, they started treating you as if you’d been their friend for years. Talking to them, you’d discovered that life growing up in Hell was very different to your own adolescence - obviously. Rather rigorous training and mentoring was needed, with not much time for fun to begin with. You learned that when they’d come to this mortal plane, they’d found - and became obsessed with - teen movies. Clueless, Mean Girls, Sixteen Candles - they had an entire library of their favourites on a USB to take with them for tours, curling up together with a headphone in a pointed ear each to watch them on the laptop during the long trips. So when you’d offered to show them what a sleepover was really like, they seized the opportunity. Literally. They squeezed you so hard you thought your ribs would crack.

You had an entire itinerary planned for them to get the full stereotypical experience - straight into pyjamas, makeup, painting nails, gossiping (you were particularly excited to hear the kind of messes the Ghoul boys got themselves into). They turned up half an hour earlier than the time; you let them in, and the festivities began.

The only problem was, the novelty seemed to wear off pretty quickly for them. You suggested make-overs, but Cirrus didn’t want to take off her mask, and Cumulus hated the taste of lipstick; you did tell her it wasn’t for licking off, but she didn’t quite understand that concept. You managed to paint one hand of Cirrus’ claws before she lost interest, eyes flickering over to watch The Breakfast Club that you’d put on for background entertainment. Cumulus eagerly thrust her hand into yours when it was her turn but would not keep her fingers still; instead, she stroked your knuckles and cooed, asking if she could do yours instead. 

You’d have to wait until later to pick the shiny blue polish off your cuticles so you wouldn’t hurt her feelings. She had tried her best, after all. 

Next, you asked if they knew any gossip, settling back on your bed to relax. They simultaneously shrugged, eyes glued to the screen, Cumulus’ arm around Cirrus’ shoulder. With a frown, you changed tack:

“Have either of you ever been with one of the other guys?” 

Cirrus elbowed Cumulus with a smirk. Cumulus frowned deeply, eyes rolling theatrically. 

“Once or twice. Only because they’ve begged me to. Cirrus doesn’t mind as long as I tell her.” 

“She thinks they’re boring.” Cirrus chirped. “She tells me about what they ask her to do and I’m just like…” She mimed dropping off, head lolling into Cumulus’ shoulder. The taller Ghoulette giggled, her free hand reaching to trace over the masked cheek of her girlfriend. 

“Cirrus has never been with a boy Ghoul. She doesn’t like ‘em.” 

“Me neither.” You shrugged. “Well, not just boy Ghouls. Boy humans, too.” 

That piqued their interest. The Brat club whizz past on the screen, forgotten, as the Ghoulettes crawled a bit closer to your bed. Cumulus rested her arms on your sheets and put her chin on top of them.

“Really? We though that was just a Ghoul thing.” She muttered. 

“Oh, no. There’s plenty of women who love women on Earth.”

“And you’re one of ‘em?” Cumulus’ eyes were shining. You shifted under their intense gaze, shrugging, picking at the fabric of your sheets. 

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you like us?” 

Your head snapped up. You really weren’t expecting that. Blushing bright, you shrugged again, swallowing hard. The feeling of their eyes on you was overwhelming, but your heart fluttered at her words nonetheless.

“I dunno… I’ve never been with Ghouls before.” You laughed, but they didn’t. You watched, heart racing, as Cirrus leaned in to whisper at her girlfriend’s ear; they dissolved into hushed giggles, and your flush only intensified. 

Cirrus ambled over to sit on the bed beside you. Cumulus put both her hands on the foot of the bed, starting to lift herself up.

“Do you want to?” She whispered. “We’ve never been with a human girl before.” 

You can’t believe this is happening. You’re completely pinned by Cumulus’ eyes, blazing out at you from under the mask. Neither of them come any closer until they have your say so.

“You don’t have to.” Cirrus continued, looking at the half-smudged polish on her claws. “But it could be fun. I’ve always wanted to taste a human girl.” 

A soft little moan leaked from your mouth at her statement, and the two Ghoulettes laughed. Cheeks burning, the heat between your legs is only getting worse; you feel stifled by your clothes, and you don’t even realise that you’ve nodded until both of them were on you, expertly stripping you down to your underwear, clawed hands roaming over your exposed flesh. 

Cirrus leaned in, hands cupping your breasts, her sharp claws surprisingly gentle on your skin as she massaged over them. You could hear her breath caught under the mask as she moved closer. Beyond your stomach, Cumulus trailed her fingers over the wet spot in your panties, featherlight, watching your reaction. You bucked, back arching to try and get Cirrus’ mouth closer to you. Poking out her forked tongue, she attempted to lick over your nipple - but then she stopped short, huffing.

“I wanna take off my mask!” She whined. 

“Do it, then.” Cumulus mumbled, pressing down ever so gently onto your clit through the fabric. You jolted, and a grin spread across her face. 

“No, only for you, silly. You know that.” 

“Well, what do you want to do?” 

Despite them having a full conversation with each other, neither of their hands stopped working, giving you absolutely no relief from their hungry, curious touches. Cirrus’ thumbs worked over your nipples, fascinated by how they got so hard so quickly. Cumulus tapped lightly on the same spot as before, noting how it made you buck and sigh. You lay there, too dumbfounded to move, hands fisted in the sheets either side of you.

Cirrus disappeared from your periphery momentarily and then she was back, holding up your pyjama top. She neatly folded it into a makeshift blindfold, and at your quick, enthusiastic nod of consent, tied it gently around your head. You didn’t care what it took anymore; you needed to feel as much of them on you as you could.

Plunged into blindness with only the slight haze of your bedroom lamp streaming in through the layers of fabric, you relaxed completely, waiting anxiously to see where the next touch would be. Hands on your stomach, hands on your thighs. A tongue flickered over your nipple along with a low, happy hum; then it was sucked into a warm, wet mouth. You moaned, and the sound was encouraged by your underwear being inched off your hips.

When you were fully naked, the Ghoulettes took their time lavishing their attention onto you. They’d never been with a human girl before, like they’d said - they wanted to make a thorough job of this. They took care to notice which parts you liked to be touched the most; despite their fangs and claws, they were tender in their touch, not even daring to rasp their teeth over your neck as they kissed it. Mirroring each other, they slipped down your collarbones and to your chest, each mouth and tongue sucking and flickering over your nipples and breasts until you wanted to fucking scream. Then, one of the mouths descended further - stopping only to laugh at your weird cord-mark on your stomach - and you spread your legs eagerly. 

Hot, wet kisses were pressed over your stomach, your midriff and then each of your inner thighs while the other mouth and hands continued to toy with your chest, content little sighs coming from each of the Ghoulettes. You felt hands grip onto your thighs, and although you couldn’t see, you knew one of them was hovering just above your most intimate area, studying you.

“Pretty.” A hushed whisper from between your legs. “Like a flower.” 

Wriggling a little, you groaned, chest heaving. Slowly, a forked tongue traced its way over each of your fold, outside and then in, before lapping at your wettest spot. Another content sigh - warm breath heating your already scorching skin. The fork of the tongue was sinfully good, each side able to work in different directions, twirling around each other as she slowly sank it into you. You rocked your hips and moaned desperately, only to be silenced by a mouth on your own, another forked tongue dancing over your human one. 

You jolted uncontrollably when the tongue finally grazed over the spot that was aching the most for touch, groaning low into the Ghoulette’s mouth. They both giggled. 

“She has a special spot.” Cumulus whispered. “Watch.” 

The tongue swirled over your clit slowly while you writhed and whimpered, rocking your hips up into her mouth to get any friction you could manage. Cirrus giggled, her hands sweeping along your jawline. 

“They’re so cute. Do it again.”

Cumulus obliged, even venturing so far as to lightly suck on it. The effect was instantaneous; cursing, your hands twisted into the sheets as stuttered moans spilled from your lips. You felt Cirrus’ warmth leave your side, and the bed sagging as she travelled around to rest herself beside Cumulus. 

“I wanna try.” 

For the next few minutes the two Ghoulettes took turns sharing you, mouths travelling, sucking, lapping at everything you had between your legs. You even felt some little nibbles on your inner thighs, and the whole time the urgent fire building in your stomach only got worse and worse. Your legs were pushed and pinned apart so they had full access to you, and the sensation of their tongues flickering over your clit was too fucking much. You began to quietly beg, and it made them pause.

“Do you think they can…?”

“Dunno. Let’s see.” 

Their mouths were back on you, one sucking at your clit with just the right amount of pressure, the other tongue flickering and dipping into you. They’d teased you for so long in their curious examination of your human body that when it finally stopped building and you tumbled over the edge your back arched entirely off the bed, hands coming down to push their heads into you while you rode it out, groaning. Against your sensitive skin, they giggled, continuing to mouth at you until you had to push them away, shuddering from the overstimulation. 

“Looks like they can.” 

“Cute!” 

You sat up slowly, shakily, hands coming to touch the blindfold. Both of them were still sat between your legs, obviously watching you with great interest. Your first instinct is to tear the damn fabric off your eyes, but you remembered what Cirrus said - she didn’t want you to see her face. They waited for you to catch your breath, their hands lazily grazing over your legs.

“Alright.” You whispered hoarsely, heat still thrumming through your veins. “You got to experiment on me. I played guinea pig. I think it’s only fair I get to see what a Ghoulette likes, too.” 


	10. Up to Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece of fiction was More Than a Request. I can't say the exact words here because AO3 will hit me with the (square) ban hammer. If you don't know what I mean, come to my tumblr and ask. Why am I putting this here, you ask? 
> 
> What's the thing you use to stop your bathwater from draining? ...A plug? 
> 
> Also, it was requested for this that Papa is TSWCverse, hence the broken English.

Perhaps it was the uncharacteristically pleasant weather, reminiscent of sleepy adolescence in the Italian countryside, that had made Papa’s skin so warm.

Through the crack of the open window, the smell of fresh cut grass and sweet pansies drifted over to him where he was lounging in his office chair, nodding along accordingly as the Sister spoke. With the scent came memories: sprawled by the lake on a picnic blanket, enjoying the company of whatever flame took his fancy that week; dashing far into farmland to hide from prying eyes and steal a few not so innocent touches of his companion.

The Sister had came to deliver some news, and she looked as bored as he felt. Papa’s eyes wandered over her face more times than truly necessary, returning to settle on her velvety lips as she spoke. Her eyes twinkled a crystalline blue in the sunlight that streamed through the stained glass, painting her skin and habit red, green and yellow. He must not have seen her before. He would have remembered someone so pretty.

He realised she’d stopped, and that he was still staring at her. Nodding quickly, he flashed her a smile that seemed to make her flush.

“Bene. Grazie, sorella.”

Dipping her head in farewell, the Sister turned to leave; humming, Papa leaned forward in the chair, and at the slight creak she looked back over at him.

“You leave so soon?”

There was a tinge of nervous energy coming from her, easy to tell from the tension of her muscles, but she matched his gaze and shrugged slightly.

“I have duties with Imperator, Your Dark Excellency. Besides, I wouldn’t want to interrupt what you’re doing.”

He hummed again, a low rumbled deep in his throat that had her chewing slowly at her lip. He almost scoffed. It was so easy.

“I do nothing, sorella. But I can do. If you stay.”

Eyes widening, the Sister watched in disbelief as the man made a show of peeling off his gloves, one finger at a time, and layering them on top of each other on the dark wood of the desk. Her heart began to flutter at the possibility - surely, he didn’t mean for her to stay for_ that_?

Silence.

Papa regarded her with the same easy smile once his hands were bare, noting how her eyes were drawn to them; he intertwined his fingers, head lolling to one side.

“You stay, sorella?”

A beat. She wavered, eyes flickering from his hands to his face and then at the floor. Judging by the blush that had steadily crept over her entire face, it was clear she wanted to.

He opened his mouth to speak his usual line - it’s okay to have desires, let your Papa take care of you - but before a single syllable passed his lips she shook her head slowly, baring a terse smile at him.

“No, thank you.”

It was enough to get him out of his chair, and she took a step backwards instinctively. A frown had creased his face and he had to concentrate to soften his expression, but the absolute confusion that was raging consumed him entirely. He’d never been turned down by a Sister before.

“What?” He rasped.

It came out more forceful than it should have, and she was back to smiling anxiously, hands twining together before her. She’d refused him. She didn’t want him. That was fine, of course - it was her choice.

But it made a fleeting fancy dangerously intense very, very quickly.

Like a petulant child; she was now forbidden fruit as far as he was concerned, and he could not think of anything other than seducing her. Why had she turned him down? Did she think he would be disappointing? He’d certainly prove her wrong - he’d make her scream his name until the entire abbey knew what they were doing - but he _couldn’t._

He had to know. After another brief nod she was heading for the door, and he traipsed after her like a lost puppy, completely dumbfounded. His hands ached to touch her; the habit clung slightly to her curves, and he wanted to know what she looked like under it.

“Why?” He choked, and she turned to regard him, surprised. She hadn’t expected him to follow. With a small shrug and a rather forceful chuckle, she just repeated herself, polite as anything, nice as pie, and he wanted to fall to his knees for her. Her eyes scanned over his visibly tense body, eyebrows raising briefly as they passed over his crotch. The tight pants did little to hide the bulge there.

She bit her lip at the sight of it, and a rush of blood flooded into the pit of his stomach. He wanted to touch her, but wouldn’t dream of doing it without her say so.

“Why?” He insisted, uncaringly whiny. She averted her eyes to study a bookcase on the other side of the room.

“You’d have the same reaction to any other Sister who came in to your office, Your Excellency - no offence.” Her hands skimmed down the front of her habit, and she shrugged again. “I… I prefer not to give it away like that. Maybe I could send another Sister down -“

“No.” He hissed, stepping forward, and she didn’t step away. His eyes bore into her but yet, she still matched his gaze, each blink a sweep of eyelashes on her cheeks that made his gut tighten. Her teeth were back on her lip, and - with a strangled moan - his hand reached out of its own accord to touch it. He stopped dead about an inch from her face, thumb tracing the air like it was swiping over her bottom lip, and he shook his head fiercely.

“No other Sister. You. Please.” He pleaded.

She blinked.

“Why me, Papa?” She said softly; closing the gap between them, his knuckles brushed over her cheek, and she fought hard not to shiver.

“You are beautiful, sorella.” He murmured, relishing the feeling of her soft, warm skin on his own. “I show you this. You like your body?”

She hummed nervously, giggling, arching her face into his touch a little.

“It’s okay, I guess.”

Papa tutted dramatically, his other hand coming to rest on her shoulder. At her expectant gaze, it travelled down her side to marvel at her curves, his other hand cupping her cheek.

“I like this body, cara.” He whispered.

With no warning, she leaned forward to press their lips together, her arms circling around his neck to keep him in place while she led the kiss. After a stunned moment he kissed her back, groaning softly when her tongue flitted between his lips.

When she pulled away to tear off her veil, he led them over the seating area. Brown hair fell down by her chin when she shook it free, dumping the fabric onto the floor; he sat down and she was quick to climb on top of him, pressing down into his hard cock in just the right way. Like this, he was free to admire her body completely; his lips at her neck, his hands pushing her skirt up her thighs, he couldn’t help a string of soft moans tumbling from his mouth at the feeling of her. Her fingers twisted into his hair to direct his mouth to where she wanted it, the beads of her Grucifix digging into his chest through his clothes.

“What can I do to you, cara?” He whispered, and she shrugged, pulling away to look at his face, a little smile playing on her lips.

“What is it you want, Papa?” Her hand drifted down his front to palm at the tent in his trousers; groaning, he fell back in the seat, gazing up at her through hooded lids. When he didn’t reply, she set about undoing the button and tugging down the zipper, hesitantly reaching inside to feel him. She was biting her lip again, and he leaned forward to kiss her, muffling his moans against her mouth as she pulled him out and started to stroke him. She was struggling to keep up with his hungry mouth, moving aside every so often to gasp in some air while he continued to taste every inch of skin available to him; beyond words, mad with desire.

Papa pushed her skirt up so it rode around her hips and then quickly manoeuvred his fingers under the waistband of her underwear, watching with utter delight as she sighed, head tipping forward, hips rocking into his touch. With each small circle he rubbed around her clit she shuddered gently, brow knitting, her hand never faltering its own pace as it worked over his cock.

“I make you wet, cara.” He mumbled deliriously into her flesh. “I make you wet, then you fuck me?”

She giggled and squeezed him gently, and he groaned between his teeth; he was achingly hard, like he hadn’t been touched in months. He was desperate enough now that it felt that way. When his fingers slid down to twist inside of her, the resulting little gasp and moan had him reeling. He caught her mouth in another scathing kiss, carelessly working his tongue over hers, knowing he was probably being way too intense but far too far gone to calm down now.

“Please.” He begged, his lips at her cheek. Each stroke of her hand was slow and calculated, and he was unable to move his hips to heighten the friction. “Please, please.”

She laughed again, and suddenly her weight shifted from his lap; glancing down, he watched her remove his fingers from her and tug her underwear to one side. The fingers went straight into his mouth, moaning at the taste of her on his tongue; his other hand gripped her hip tighter and tighter as she teased the tip of his cock against herself, huffing quietly as she began to sink down onto it.

Eyes rolling closed, Papa’s breath hitched in his throat at the feeling of her around him, tight and hot and wet. Now they’d gotten this far it didn’t seem like there was anything left to hold her back; she began to ride him mercilessly, her hands fisting into his hair, each twist and tug only sending more lust searing into his system.

His hands wandered helplessly down her thighs, back up, over her hips, to her waist - he did his best to cant his hips up with each bounce, the two of them falling into a steady rhythm that had him gasping uncontrollably. He whispered her praises in Italian, and though he wasn’t sure she understood she got the sentiment; cheeks flushed, lower lip pinned by her teeth, she fucked herself onto him desperately.

A slip of his hand and his fingers were back on her clit, rubbing in disjointed little circles. He was close already. He needed to make sure she came on his cock, and left here satisfied. Her eyes screwed closed and he licked his lips, jaw tensing as the waves of growing pleasure intensified.

“You cum for me, cara.” He rasped. “You do this for your Papa.”

Her rhythm was faltering, but it didn’t matter. She threw her head back, revealing the red glow that consumed her flesh, her hair dancing wildly as she moved; and then, she was clenching around him, moaning so sweetly he held his breath so he didn’t miss a second of it. She slammed herself down onto him as she rode it out, her fingers digging into his shoulders - and when she finished, she glanced up at him, catching her breath; she grinned giddily at him, her hips falling back into the steady rhythm of before.

It didn’t take long for him to follow. His hands dug into the meat of her hips as he spilled inside of her, groaning out his rapture as it pulsed through his body. He felt her hands on his hair, on his face, on his chest - she could do whatever she wanted to him, as far as he was concerned. The sensation of her skin gliding on his own only heightened the high, and when he was finally spent he collapsed back with a huff, panting.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The Sister’s blue eyes shone as she regarded him, carefully smoothing back locks of black hair that had fallen into his face. He swallowed hard, jaw flexing, hands roaming over her body again.

“Cara.” He whispered, and she nodded, leaning forward expectantly. His face flushed, and this time it wasn’t down to desire. When his lips grazed over her throat, her eyes closed; his mouth at her ear, he murmured, as apologetically as he could:

“I… ah… I forget everything you said to me earlier… you tell me again, please?”


	11. Obedentis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow up piece to the one before! Have fun.

When Imperator caught her on her way down one of the winding staircases in the far reaches of the abbey, the Sister had initially panicked. She’d seemed miffed, and didn’t say anything more as she led the Sister back to her office, making her stand in silent alarm as she tidied various papers on her pristine desk into a pile.

“You are to take these to Papa Emeritus the Third’s office. I trust you know the way?”

The Sister bit the inside of her cheek to stop a smile, and just bobbed her head as politely as she could. Once the papers were cradled carefully in her arms, she waited for Imperator to dismiss her before scurrying out of the room.

Navigating the maze-like layout of the abbey, the Sister’s mind raced back to the last time she had been in Papa’s company. She hadn’t quite believed it had happened, really; after they’d finished she’d all but bolted, suddenly overcome with nerves at what she’d done - leaving him panting on the sofa. She cringed a little at the memory of his perplexed, sweaty face peering over at her as she closed the hefty door.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to say to him. It’s not like she could speak to any of the other Sister’s for the proper etiquette when it came to fucking the leader of your church.

It turned out she needn’t have worried; her hesitant raps on the ebony wood went unanswered, and when she managed to juggle the papers around so she could wrap her hand on the door handle without invoices raining all over the polished floor, the office was empty - save for the welcoming fire and almost burnt down cones of incense on his desk.

The Sister ambled over, eyeing the desk’s surface warily. It was completely covered in a scramble of various papers and letters, and she wasn’t quite sure if there was a system in place - if there was, she didn’t want to ruin it. Her safest bet was to just put the pile on the plush seat of his chair, and leave as soon as she could.

Only she didn’t. She wandered over to the fire to watch the sparks crackle and hiss as the flames devoured the wood, the hearth hot enough to warm her skin but not to make her sweat. Above the smell of ash and incense, she could smell him; the faint but lingering aroma of cologne and musk, unmistakably Papa.

Next, the Sister diverted her attention to the seating area, already feeling flustered as she approached it. The rich, dark upholstery gave nothing away but she knew what had happened there: his head had tipped back against the wooden frame as he panted and struggled for breath; her knees had dug into the soft cushions as anchorage while she fucked him. Here is where he’d made her cum. Here is where she’d had him clinging to her, moaning for her…

A sharp intake of breath. Her knees were trembling, and she inched closer, running her hand over the very spot as her breath caught in her throat. She’d barely allowed herself to remember but now she couldn’t stop - and her body was coming alive as she relived it, savouring every moment she’d spent with her Papa.

She glanced over at the door that she’d come through, and then the other one that led to his quarters. When she paused, everything was silent and still, save for the occasional homely crackle of the fire far behind her.

Cautiously, the Sister sank down until she was perched on the sofa, cheeks hot as her hand drifted between her legs to try and quell the growing throb there. He was a handsome man anyway, but seeing him with his eyes rolling and his jaw slack, giving himself over completely - well, that was something else. Another glance at the doors, and the Sister rubbed a little faster.

Did he think about her since? Maybe. She hoped so. Though she wouldn’t be quite sure what she’d do if she ever stumbled upon such a scene. What if she’d come in to give him these papers only to find him leaning back in his large black leather chair, pants pulled down, dick in his hand? In her mind’s eye that hand slid meticulously over his length, squeezing and twisting just how he liked it; his lips swollen from biting them to keep himself quiet, his other hand raking nails over his thigh. Blowing out a shaky breath, the Sister leaned back herself, legs parting enough for her to rub at her clit properly through the thin fabric of her underwear. With a final fleeting check that she was going to be uninterrupted, she closed her eyes and focused in on that image of him.

Would she stand and watch him, or go over and help? She didn’t know; she was sure seeing him stroke himself off would be a pretty sight, but if he opened his eyes to find her standing before him, there was every chance they would continue their previous encounter. Her fingers circled her clit a little faster as she thought of him getting to his feet, whispering for her in that lovely accent of his - in her head, he kisses her, lips soft, tongue flickering. He pushes her back until she hops up onto the desk and reaches between them as he closes the distance, her hand wrapping around his cock while his mouth grazes over her jaw and throat. One firm yet always gentle push and she’s lying flat, her legs hooking around him as he lifts up the hem of her habit to reveal her underwear. Hands on her thighs, eyes on her body; Papa parts her legs further and pulls her underwear aside, just like the first time. The head of his cock tracing against her - her pace hastened, chasing the orgasm that was beckoning - until he starts to slowly push it into her, his wonderful moan falling from his lips as he fills her…

“Papa…” She whispered, back starting to arch. “Fuck, Papa…”

“Yes?”

The Sister flew to her feet, stumbling as she spun to face the voice, hurriedly tugging her skirts down. Papa was leaning in the doorway of his quarters, and the smug smirk on his face told her enough. Covering her face, she moaned quietly, turning away from him.

“Lucifer, forgive me.” She whined; chuckling, Papa made no attempt to move.

“A good show. You have a good time?”

“Papa.” Her hand remained over her flushed face. “I’m so sorry.”

“For this? Why?”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak anymore. There was nothing else to be done but to combust on the spot. The door clicked shut and she sensed him move; peeking between her fingers, he had stepped a little closer but was keeping his distance. She couldn’t help but notice his hand resting casually next to his crotch - and though she wasn’t sure, she thought there was a hint of a bulge there.

“Good to see you again, Sister.” He breathed; his rich voice ran through her, making the burn inside of her a hundred times worse.

“Now, tell your Papa - you think of what?”

Knees trembling, breath stuttering, the Sister remained motionless and quiet. Perhaps this was a bad dream. She’d wake up any moment.

Papa tutted, and she knew he’d moved closer. His voice was right in front of her now, speaking in a hushed tone that did not make things any better.

“Tell your Papa.”

“I was thinking of you, Papa.” She mumbled, barely audibly. A low hum was her reply.

“Of last time?”

She could have just nodded - but she wouldn’t ever lie to her Papa. His hand was on her wrist, gently urging it down so her face was uncovered; she looked away quickly, wincing under his scrutiny.

“No.” He was still holding her wrist, the pad of his thumb rubbing soothing little circles onto her flesh. “Something else.”

“Hmmm?” Papa’s teeth caught his lower lip, and in her periphery she saw his hand creep closer to the tent in his pants. “Tell me, sorella.”

“Fucking me on the desk.” She whispered. Papa sighed evenly.

“Scusami, sorella - my English is not very good. You say this louder for me, per piacere?”

The Sister groaned, recoiling away from him entirely. But she did as she was told.

“You fucking me on your desk.” She repeated, a tad louder. Papa hummed again, the sound encircling her like a warm hug.

“Interessante.” He breathed. “So, sorella - you want this?”

“Papa, please.” Her tone was whiny but she really wasn’t sure if she wanted to run and hide, or see what the old man had to offer. He ignored her and she watched, holding her breath, as he lowered his lips to the back of her hand.

“Tell me.” He murmured, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin. “You want Papa to fuck you on the desk?”

One option was becoming a lot more attractive with every passing second - especially when he lifted his head and pressed his lips a few inches above where he’d just been, again and then again, slowly making his way up her arm. By the time he reached her shoulder he’d wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her to his body. She could feel he was hard. Lips at her neck, he growled involuntarily.

“Tell me.” He rasped, and the sheer authority of his voice had her nodding.

“Yes.” She whispered.

“Beg.”

“Please.” The Sister trembled. He was holding her up, steadying her shaky body against his own. “Please, please, Papa. Please fuck me again.”

He said something she didn’t understand, then sighed in annoyance and tried again.

“Where?”

“Th-the desk.”

“Show me.”

It took her a few seconds to compose herself enough to be able to walk but she obediently took his hand and led him over to his desk. Her eye cast over the pile of papers on his seat but he didn’t even look at them, shoving the chair until it spun aside and gesturing at the desk. It was still full of his paperwork, but the look he gave her when she glanced over at him dubiously had her playing along immediately, hopping up onto the edge, heart pounding. Papa stood before her, about a foot away - he undid the button of his pants, just looking at her for a long moment as he pulled down the fly.

“Off.” He mumbled, his chin jerking at her thighs. Hesitantly, she reached up her skirts and pulled down her underwear, leaning back and arching her hips off the desk to get them off before kicking them to the floor. Now, she was utterly exposed: his hands skimmed her thighs to push up her hem to her waist. He stepped close and then moved to pull out his cock, massaging at it with deliberate ease as he watched her squirm in anticipation.

“You think of this?”

“Yes.” She whispered. The Sister wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. She wanted to reach for him - to feel his hot, throbbing cock in her own palm - but they lay on her stomach as if trying to steady her breathing. Papa’s smirk grew and he closed his eyes briefly, brow knitting as his hand jerked over himself.

“Fuck.” He groaned, and her stomach clenched at the sound. “I… I think… I cum like this…. This is okay, sorella? You don’t mind this?”

His head tilted as she quickly shook her head, and he smiled sweetly at her feverish, desperate face.

“No?”

“Please fuck me, Papa.” She pleaded. “Please. I want you. Please, Papa.”

Papa exhaled slowly and continued to work his hand over himself, licking his lip with calculated theatrics.

“Papa, _please_.” Her tone was becoming hoarse. Never in her life had she wanted something so badly; it was right fucking there, inches away from where she needed it. “Please.”

“Ah~” He moaned, quietly, head falling back. “Feels good.”

“I want to feel you.” She whined. Her hands fell above her head and she gripped the edge of the desk, trying to keep it together. His chin dropped and he looked at her with the same small smile as before.

“Okay. You feel me.”

Papa pushed her skirts up higher until they were under her bra, and then positioned her thighs so she was spread for him; then, he shifted his hips about until his cock was brushing against her, each rock of his body causing the entire length to slide over her painfully slowly. The Sister groaned, nails scratching harder at the grain of the wood.

“Fuck.” Her voice was thick. “Papa, no.”

“No?” He stopped completely, and she wanted to kick him.

“No! That’s - that’s not what I meant!” She whined. Her knees locked around him to try and pull him closer, and he laughed so impishly she felt like she was going to burst into tears.

“You meant what?”

“F-Fuck me.” She implored him, her hips rising off the desk in an attempt to get some friction on her clit. “Put it in me.”

He grunted, brow hardening.

“Say please.”

“Please.” She hissed it through her teeth, and Papa pouted at her, his thumb brushing over her chin.

“Okay. You ask me nice.”

The Sister watched with bated breath as his hand lowered to grab himself again. He pulled back just enough for there to be enough room for him to be able to press the tip against her. Her head tipped back and she just waited, biting down hard on her lower lip, trying to keep her breathing even.

Nothing happened.

The Sister waited, every muscle tense - but Papa just teased the head against her, only pushing the very tip into her hole every so often and then pulling out to glide it over her again. He was rubbing against all the nerves she needed him to be - but not in the right way. The last of her resolve snapped. She didn’t care if anyone was nearby to hear her; she was going to have him fuck her, right here, right now.

“Papa.” She gasped, trying to reach for him but his other hand kept her flat on his desk. “Papa, fuck me. I - I need you to - Satan, Papa - fuck me.”

“Almost.” He whispered, his white eye shining over at her. “But you forget.”

“Forget what?” She snapped - another attempt to sit up thwarted by the heavy hand pressing down on her stomach. “Fuck, Papa - what?”

He didn’t reply, his eyes fixed down at what he was doing. Despite her wriggling he was still able to keep the tip pressing against her, slicking himself up with her wetness. She thought - quickly - and then she realised.

“Please.” She whimpered. “Please fuck me, Papa.”

“You come to my office.” He muttered. “You touch on my sofa. You tell me you want to be on the desk. You tell me to fuck you.” His eyes flashed up and her breath caught in her throat, his expression unreadable. “You tell me what to do. _Me_. Your Papa. Yes?”

“Y-yes.” The Sister whispered. Any hardness dropped from his face and he winked at her, smirking.

“Good.”

With that, he grabbed hold of her hips and eased himself into her, a groan rumbling from deep in his chest as he filled her. Back lifting, the Sister canted her hips greedily, desperate to take him as quickly as possible. The slow stretch of him inside her was unspeakably good. Just the act of him taking her like this had her head filling with cotton, the screaming itch inside of her quelled, a wonderful buzz taking its place. Papa rotated his hips a few times, puffing out a sigh, and then he began to thrust. The desk rocked with his movements; the Sister tried her best to buck into each push of his hips, chasing the pleasure that was steadily building in the pit of her stomach.

“Così -” Papa broke out into a moan, face contorting at the feeling of her around him. “S-so desperate for me…”

She could only nod, hand sliding down her front to rub rapidly at her clit. She was so close already; any little thing was going to take her over the edge.

“Yes.” He rasped, fucking her quickly but carefully in long, smooth strokes. “You cum, sorella. You cum on my cock.”

Legs tight around his waist, the Sister’s orgasm hit her hard. She bucked and keened, head rolling on his desk; Papa didn’t miss a beat, keeping the pace steady even though the feeling of her clamping around him had strangled moans dripping from his lips in waves.

Cheeks rosy from the afterglow, the Sister flopped back onto the hard surface, breathing hard, finger still circling gently over herself as the last ebbs faded.

“Good?” He asked, quite breathlessly. She managed a nod and he grinned, head falling so his chin was on his chest. Another groan left him and his brow creased, eyes screwing shut momentarily as he got lost in the moment. The Sister gazed up at him, her hand gripping onto his forearm as his thrusts started to get harder and harder. The sight of him enjoying himself so thoroughly - and _her_being the one to cause it - was already making the coil begin to tighten in her again, oh so slowly but deliciously. She rubbed her clit faster, eagerly moving her hips so her body met his with each stroke. He looked down at her, lids heavy, and smirked.

“Again?”

She nodded quickly, a breathy moan quaking in her throat; Papa leaned over her, lips pressing to the spot it was coming from - and he pressed himself against her so completely her hand was pinned, unable to move. She whined, and he laughed, watching her thrash.

“I didn’t say this, sorella.” He cooed. The Sister groaned, teeth clenched as her head whipped away from his smug expression.

“Beg me.” The hard edge to her tone had her breath hitching. Her eyes reluctantly moved back to meet his, and she was instantly pinned under his expectant stare.

“Beg me. Do this nicely. Maybe I let you.”


	12. Take a Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another follow up to the previous two.

Seeing how invested in her studies - in the numerous books laid out on the slightly battered library table - as she was, it was no surprise that when a hand came down on her shoulder she nearly toppled out of her seat.

When she darted her head over it was only another Sister, who blinked slowly as she attempted to regulate her heart rate.

“Imperator wants you.” The other Sister quipped, monotonous.

Closing the book she had been reading over slowly, she glanced up at her, concern beginning to gnaw at her gut.

“Did she say why?”

“Phone call for you. Papa asked for you by name; he has something he needs doin’ here while he’s away.”

She thanked her. The other Sister replied with a grunt and turned to amble away, leaving the Sister to glance down at her spread with vague disbelief. Under the dim orange buzz of the sconcelight, she packed up her research carefully and set the books onto the trolley to be sorted back onto the shelves. Half-finished notes in hand, she began the trek to Imperator’s office.

For the whole walk there she couldn’t help but wonder what it could possibly be that Papa wanted - so important that he asked for her, specifically, to do it while he was out of the Abbey. It could be some ritual work that needed to be prepared, or some other little errand to run. Maybe she was the first name who came to mind.

It was always nerve-wracking to approach Imperator’s office, where junior and senior Sisters alike were punished for wrongdoings by the woman herself and her iron fist. Upon knocking, the Sister peeked her head around the door.

Seated at her desk and not looking the least bit amused, Imperator gestured to the phone receiver that was off the hook, waiting, on the surface. She frowned at the Sister over the top of her glasses the whole time it took for her cross over and sit herself down, then returned to writing, the nib of her fountain pen scratching frantically.

With a stilted breath the Sister picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

“Hello? Your Dark Excellency?”

“Sorella?”

Fuck. That voice. It was enough to make a girl melt. Flashing a wary glance at Imperator, the Sister cleared her throat, crossing one leg over the other.

“Yes, speaking. What can I do for you, Papa?”

“Sorella.” He purred, and she had to fight a shiver. She kept glancing over at Imperator nervously, growing simultaneously more horrified yet thrilled at the velvety tone of his voice. “Bella sorella. I think of you. Wishing I am there to kiss you. To put my mouth on the neck, to slowly… ah, fuck… what is this word… take down the habit. Put my hands on skin. Move it down so I can rub at your -”

“I see.” She squeaked, prompting a raised eyebrow from Imperator before she returned to writing. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that right at the moment, obviously.”

“Imperator? She is there, yes? A shame. So you cannot be putting your hand down for me? Play while your Papa is telling how he wants you?”

“Yes, exactly. I’d love to, but I can’t right now.” The Sister was trying her damnedest to keep calm and act as professionally as one should when talking with their superior on the phone, but there was the unmistakable sound of a zip coming undone - so loud it was as if he’d lowered the phone just to make sure she could hear it. She wouldn’t have put it past him, really.

“Okay. Listening to me, yes? I sit in this hotel and I think of you and our fun times together and… get so hard, Sister. Your body. I think of your body. Want to take down the clothes and have you again.”

“Papa, is this really the best time for you to be -”

His breath hitched as he did something to himself and she stopped dead, eyes widening. Imperator looked up once more and she nodded quickly, squeezing her notes to her chest.

“O-okay. Yes, I’m listening.”

“Want… le tue tette, sorella…” He mumbled. “Play with. Suck. Kiss.”

She glanced down at her chest and flushed, swallowing. He painted such a picture with his desperate, lust fuelled words that it was all too easy to slip into the image of him on top of her, lavishing his attention onto her. She knew what his mouth felt like. She imagined his painted mouth lowering onto her breasts, a dart of a pink tongue as it flickered over her nipple. A huff from Imperator snapped her back to reality and she gripped the receiver tighter, gnawing on her lip.

“That can be arranged, Papa. Anything else?”

“Oh, si, si. My mouth goes lower. It is wanting to taste all the parts, sorella - kiss all the skin. So beautiful. It deserves this, no?”

“I-I’m not sure…”

“It does.” He insisted, a little breathless. “Yes. I want to be tasting you, sorella. You spread the legs for your Papa?” 

He was actually fucking insane. He’d called Imperator to summon a Sister to her office so he could have phone sex while he presumably jacked himself off, if the little gasps and grunts were anything to go by.

“Yeah.” She replied, a hint of a quiver to her voice. “Of course.”

A low moan was her response. Her face contorting, she ducked her head.

“Anything else, Papa?” She repeated.

“I do this to you when I come to the Abbey.” He breathed. “I run my tongue over. Want to make you cum like this.”

“Please.” She whispered, risking a glance at a thankfully occupied Imperator. “That’d be… neat.”

“‘Neat’?” He bust out laughing. The Sister cringed away from the receiver at how loud it was, and all too soon Imperator’s eyes were back on her. “I fuck you with the tongue and this is only ‘neat’?”

“Given the current circumstances, that’s the best I can offer for now, Papa. Forgive me.” She rambled, looking all around Imperator’s office to avoid looking at the woman herself.

“Forgiven. You like this, sorella? You have… you have a body so good your Papa is wanting it all the time. I sit here and I stroke myself and I am thinking of you.”

“I understand that’s a big job. You must have a lot on your hands.” She couldn’t help herself. It seemed to sail over his head, though, as her only response was some heavy breathing and a choked little groan.

“How are you finding it?” She hoped her tone was airy enough so that Imperator wouldn’t be wondering why she was asking questions. A staggered breath and Papa sighed deeply.

“Better if you.” He whispered. The hairs on her arms began to stand on end, covering her in gooseflesh. “I think of this. Not my hand, but you - you squeeze and slide on it…”

“I can fulfil that duty for you as soon as you return, Your Excellency.” She was surprising herself at how placidly she was speaking despite the amount of adrenaline racing through her veins. Her heart felt like it was about to burst open out of her chest.

A cottony haze was overcoming her senses, whittling them down until all that mattered to her was the throb between her legs and the whispered Italian voice in her ear. Even the simple shift of her clothes over her skin felt a hundred times more intense. She wanted his hands on her; if she closed her eyes, briefly, she could imagine the small touches were his fingertips. At the centre of her brain was the incredibly alluring conjuration of him laying on a hotel bed, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, stroking himself so well that he had to keep stopping what he was saying into the receiver he clutched to his ear to moan. Maybe the hand leaves for a moment to push his shirt up his chest, smoothing back down slowly over his pale stomach to stop his precum from leaking onto the fabric.

It was torturous. She wanted to play along so badly, to mutter equally filthy things to him until he tipped over the edge. She wanted to push her hand into her panties and quell the ache there. She wanted to lay back, close her eyes, and listen to her Papa lust for her as she made herself cum over and over again to his desperate, hoarse voice.

But she was three feet away from Imperator, on what had the illusion of an important phone call.

“Is there anything in particular you expect for when you return?” Her lips moved automatically, now; her brain was with him on that phantom hotel bed.

“You remember the first? You ride me on the couch. I want this. I am lying back and I see how beautiful when you move. F-fuck -”

“How far away is the hotel?” She babbled. “Are you close?”

“S-sorella?”

“Are you close?” She repeated; perhaps she put a little too much emphasis on the last word. She could feel eyes burning into her.

“Ah! Vedo. Y-yes…”

“Okay, that’s pretty close. What do you plan on doing when you finish? Anything nice?”

“I c-cum - che cazzo - but… but your… your Papa, he is so hot. For you. For your body. I cum in you. But sorella… sorella has not… this is rude, yes? M-maybe you ride your Papa still, so you do?”

Stunned, the Sister sat in silence. Under her, a writhing, panting Papa begged incoherently while she continued to fuck his over-sensitive cock, concentrating only on her own orgasm while he bucked weakly up into her. She knew he was the type to try and please her even though he’d already cum.

“Sorella…” He rasped. Clearing her throat quickly, she just made a humming noise like she was listening. Her thighs rubbed together but did little to soothe the burning desire that had started deep within her. Why did he have to be so far away?

“Satanas - S-sorella -”

A few strained noises filled her ear. She knew she was flushing all down her face and neck but there was nothing she could do; the man she lusted after was currently cumming to the thought of her, and only her. His little whimpers and moans fed into her own lust; she could vividly imagine him milking himself dry, covering his chest and stomach in his own cum.

Soon, he was panting, and she found that she had been holding her breath. She blew it out slowly, and just waited.

But he didn’t say anything more. Other than his heavy breathing as he fought to catch his breath, his end of the phone was silent.

“Papa?” She muttered.

“Friday. The night.” He rasped. “I come back. You - you wait for me, on the bed. I come to worship you, sorella.”

The line went dead.


	13. Corpo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand a fourth.

Barely had they gotten into the cramped little room before Papa was on her. His tongue dominated her mouth, his hands fisted through her hair; he stole the breath from her lungs then left her to gasp as he quickly set about devouring her. Lips and teeth dragged over her throat. Her back against the wall and her resolve quickly dissolving, the Sister had a feeling of being in a cage with a feral, starving animal.

“Bella.” He rasped, again and again, like he was trying to imprint the word into her skin. No time to feel self-conscious - with every newly exposed piece of flesh he would moan and caress it and cover it in his hot, sticky kisses. He undressed her like a sculptor prying pieces of marble away to reveal the statue underneath; his eyes lit up with wonder at the sight of her, desperate to touch and taste as much of her as he could. 

So caught up in desire he audibly complained when she started to tug at his clothes - but she was indignant, and his patience only stretched so far. 

“It’s only fair.” 

That was her catch phrase of the day, it seemed; she bleated it as she unbuttoned his shirt, batting away his hands whenever he tried to cast his hands over her body again. Truthfully, Papa couldn’t give less of a fuck if he were clothed or not. All that mattered was that she was visible - that her skin was under his hands and his mouth was all over her. Him being as naked as her was by the by. 

Still, he couldn’t deny he loved the look her face got whenever she saw his own body. The undeniable haze of lust made itself plainly visible via heavy eyelids and parted lips; she briefly paused what she was doing to lightly touch at the sparse hair at the centre of his chest, shuddering like electricity was coursing through her. She breathed words of beauty - of admiration - and he laughed, sonorous and booming - at the thought that she did not think the same of herself. 

“Sei bella.” He insisted; capturing her face in his hands, he forced her chin up so their eyes met and watched her melt right there and then under his gaze. “This body is… You are…”

Words evaded him. It wasn’t down to his intermediate grasp of the English language; he failed to conjure any word in his mother tongue that even begun to describe what she did to him. He had thought fucking her would help quell the desire in his bones that demanded her, but each time they did this it only made it worse.

Actions speak louder than words. Papa caught her in a blistering kiss, smearing some of his paint onto her; when he pulled away, her own lips were black and white. A piece of him, left on her. 

Good. 

One advantage of her undressing him became abundantly clear: as soon as she tugged down the zipper of his pants and he kicked them off, his cock sprang into view and her hand was on it just as quick. He glanced down briefly, watching her fingers wrap around the flushed red tip, and then threaded his fingers back into her hair so he could jerk her head back and bite her neck. So hard for her. He always would be. 

Her bra was next. It joined his suit and her habit on the floor. Papa cupped the full weight of her breasts and dipped his head to run his tongue between them, grunting softly while she whimpered and writhed. His thumbs rolled over her nipples in slow circles; he could feel them hardening already. 

_Ti sono mancato? _

The question burned on his lips but for the life of him he couldn’t remember how to say it in English properly - the blood from his brain was too busy elsewhere, and every moan he pulled from her gasping mouth was only a further distraction. Still, he took the time to translate it as literally as he could (in between layering kiss after kiss onto her breasts). 

“Cara?” He whispered; his mouth was close enough to her skin that his lips brushed her nipple as he spoke. Stiffening up, she nodded, smoothing her hand through his hair shakily. “I am… am missing? From you?” 

“God, yes.” 

Slightly more enthusiastic than he had expected. Perhaps he had translated wrong. No matter; her chest heaved when he sucked her nipple into his mouth, her whines just barely resembling his name. 

Odd eyes flickered up to her as his mouth descended, capturing the astonished expression as he drew closer and closer to the spot he knew needed the most attention. What was it like, he wondered, as he slowly began to tug down her underwear, for her to have her Papa on his knees for her? To have her Papa so utterly obsessed with her? She’d bewitched him, and he loved it. 

Two tentative steps and she was free from the offending garment. He noted how her hands drifted to her stomach, her face burning up with something other than the heat of the moment, and he tutted.

“Bel-la.” He dragged the two syllables out before peppering kisses over the soft expanse of her stomach. Though she yelped and pushed at his head she was laughing, and he broke out into a grin at the sound of it and nuzzled his cheek near her belly button. 

“All. All is bella.” 

“I-I don’t… I don’t know…”

“No - ascoltami - I am Papa, yes? Very powerful and wise. I am saying this, so this is true. All is good.”

“Some people m-might disagree…”

“Idioti.” He snarled. “Not listen to them. Now. Let me…”

Try as he might she wouldn’t quite cooperate. He was attempting to hitch her leg over his shoulder, but she seemed absolutely scandalised by the very thought. 

“Y-you don’t have to-”

“Let me fucking eat you, cara.” 

The leg lifted without another word, and Papa flashed her a smirk, his free hand smoothing up her stomach and to her breast. He didn’t need to ask her to put her hands in his hair - she fisted two handfuls between her fingers and waited, chest still, breathe held. 

The noise she made when his tongue ran along her was divine. Papa chuckled darkly and lapped at her, eyes fluttering closed so he could focus on her taste, on how she gently bucked against his face. He teased her first - the tip of his tongue tracing in long, gradual sweeps but never touching anything that gave true pleasure just yet. She’d caught her balance, so he could let his left hand reach for his lap and stroke idly in time with the throbbing of his cock; he busied himself giving her featherlight licks, winding her up until she was practically sobbing for him to go further. 

Never had a plea sounded so inviting. 

Papa opened his eyes to watch her reaction when his tongue rolled over her clit. Small, tight circles - he knew what she liked, and her head thudded back against the wall while her face twisted in a silent moan. His hand roamed over her body, stopping to squeeze at a breast or pinch at a nipple every so often while his mouth worked over her. She was wet to the point of soaking his chin. It made it easier for her to glide herself onto the flat of his tongue; a low, contented rumble rose from his chest as he watched her grind herself onto his face through hooded lids. He could cum like this - easily - but that wasn’t what he wanted today. Another time, perhaps, he would spend the day on his knees for her, putting his smart mouth to work; but right now, the only thing that mattered was having that body wrapped around him. 

He could tell she was already close, so bringing her over the edge was easy. Face buried between her thighs, he sucked gently at the sensitive little bud, his tongue sweeping over it rhythmically until her entire body tensed and one of her hands left his hair. Looking up, he saw it had found a new home being stuffed into her mouth to keep herself quiet. The rosy glow of her orgasm crept all the way down her chest; he made sure to kiss it on his way back up. 

“Bella, bella.” He sighed; she was still shaking from the aftershocks when he carefully wrapped her hand around his cock, his own hand closing around hers so he could control the slow, steady pump up and down his shaft.

“Want this body, cara.” More breath than words. She gazed at him, eyes shining, and he smiled as sweetly as he could. “All the days, every day, I think of this body. Want to be inside.”

Speech was a lost art form. The Sister could only bobble her head in a manic nod, unable to tear her eyes from his. Pressing her against the wall just a little more forcefully, his lips ghosted over her cheek to her ear.

“You… ah… you cast the spell, Sister? Make your Papa like this? You make it so he has to sit and stroke and think of you?” 

It wasn’t even exaggerated dirty talk. Too many times he’d been in his office and his mind had wandered to what they had done in there - on that desk, on those couches. Demon blood runs hot - he’d find his hand down his pants before his mind had caught up to what his body was doing. He wasn’t proud enough to admit that he actively pined for her. Sometimes, the ache in him was like a vacuum in his very soul; a craving for her on every level. 

Never had someone caught him like this.

“Please fuck me.” 

The only coherent thing she’d said in several minutes, and one that he was ecstatic to hear. But when he turned her around to push her up against the window, she froze and scrabbled for the wall, shooting him a look he didn’t understand. 

“What…?”

“It’s - it’s daytime!” 

He blinked. Her expression did not change. 

“….Yes?” 

“There’s people out there!”

A sly smile slicked his lips and he tutted, spinning her so her back was to his chest and he could run his hands all over his body. His lips found her ear again.

“This is a problem?” 

“What if - what if they see us?!” 

“You let them enjoy the show, mia cara.” 

“Huh - !”

The Sister knew that if she didn’t want this, he would have no problem with her saying so. That was the best thing about Papa - as filthy as he was, he was never disappointed or pissy whenever one of his ideas was shot down. The window was quite small, and there were hundreds others like it lining the side of the Abbey. The chances of anyone down in the courtyard happening to glance up at her window specifically were slim - but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. 

Or hot.

Did he enjoy her body that much? So much so that he would put it on display for others to see? Apparently so. He had paused to wait for her decision, and when she didn’t move from the window he grunted happily and smoothed a hand down her back so it bent enough for him to access her. The window pane was icy against her hot skin; where her breasts pressed against it, her nipples grew hard all over again. Eyes flickering, she frantically watched the small figures wandering around on the ground below, surprised by just how excited it made her. Her breath fogged the glass slightly as she gasped - he was sliding his cock against her still overly sensitive skin. 

Hands on the window ledge, it struck her that she would be able to see his reflection like this; so as he pushed inside her she snapped her head up to study his expression as he stretched her open. Small pants fell from her lips. The pleasure of him filling her only intensified with the look of pure euphoria on his face. Jaw slack, brow creased, Papa sighed deeply as he started to thrust into her. His grip on her hips was sharp, but welcome; she loved having little reminders of him left all over her body. 

“Che cazzo.” He groaned, eyes rolling and then screwing closed. Tendrils of hair hung over his face when he let his chin fall to his chest. Clinging onto the wooden ledge, the Sister couldn’t take her eyes off of him; the little people dashing around down there no longer mattered. 

With a sudden shift he was closer to her, propping her up and planting his hand on the window beside her head for better leverage. Though she wasn’t certain, she had a feeling it was so he could press her further against the glass, but it also meant his delicious moans were right next to her ear. She came apart quickly, thankful he was able to support her as her knees turned to jelly. 

The cold of the window was welcome on feverish, flushed skin. Papa’s thrusts became harder, punctuated each time by a small grunt that made the knot in her stomach tighten further. 

“Fuuuuuck.” She whimpered. The people below had disappeared behind a film of condensation. If they looked up now, all they would see would be a headless body jolting against the window. 

Perhaps breathing in the hot air was doing something to her brain. A surge of confidence overcame her - damn straight, they could see her body if they looked. Her body that was getting fucked by the leader of the Church. _Her_ body - that he had said himself drove him crazy. His desperate panting as he strained for his release only spurred her on; though one side of her face was smushed up, she broke out into a wide grin. 

“Are you gonna cum?” She whispered. “Are you gonna cum inside me? You feel so fucking good. Always make my body feel so good. And it’s all yours.”

If she had thought his hold on her was tight before, she had another thing coming; as soon as that final sentence left her he all but crushed her against him, his breathing catching in his throat. He drove into her relentlessly, nodding along in agreement. 

“Sì.” He hissed the ‘s’. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she groaned. “Mine. Tutto mio.”

“I love it when you fuck me.” She wanted so desperately to look at him, but listening to him quickly coming undone was just as good. “I l-love making you cum. Cum inside of me? Please?”

She didn’t have to ask twice; within seconds she felt him flood inside of her, the pulse of his cock - he rolled his hips in long strokes to ride it out, milking himself into her body. Each whimper and groan made her head spin; she rested her face against the window to try and ground herself, peering down at the hazy figures below. 

Papa’s lips travelled lazily over the back of her neck. Smiling, she twisted her face to catch them against her own, humming into the kiss until he broke away and pulled out of her. 

No sooner had she attempted to move when he was back on her, at her front this time; his eyes blazed with the same intense hunger as before, and he cocked his head as his fingers crept back into her hair. 

“You go so soon?” 

“W-we aren’t done?” 

She froze. His lips grazed up her face; her lips, her nose, her forehead. He pressed a single kiss there, and responded with an equally simple answer.

“Are we ever, cara?”


	14. Trust a Fire Ghoul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewdrop and a Sister have some words.

“Just… ignore people looking at you.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Ghouls get to cover their faces.”

Dewdrop paused, leg kicking idly as he considered this.

“Huh. You know how many Ghouls would be pissed to hear you say that? The new ones always bitch when they get given the masks.”

The Sister just shrugged, squeezing her hands together tightly. Dewdrop seemed so sure of himself, casually draping his long limbs over the small bed in whatever position he found comfortable. The same could not be said for her - she had an unconscious habit of making herself small, only taking up as much space as humanly possible.

The Ghoul’s eyes flickered over to her. The blank expression of the mask made it hard to tell what he was thinking; she shifted about under his scrutiny, glancing around his room.

“What is it you don’t like?”

“It’s… it’s not that. I don’t particularly mind… this.” Her hand gestured over her body. “I just… I don’t think anyone else would like it very much…”

Dew sat up quite suddenly, giving the Sister a start - eyes widening, she watched him stretch his arms upwards, his thin frame elongating even further. Distracting, to say the least.

“Did someone tell you that?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Did someone say that to you? That they didn’t like your body?”

A flush crept over her cheeks. She shook her head, and Dew grunted, collapsing back on the bed.

“So don’t think that.”

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes.

“It’s not that easy.”

Dew flipped over so he was kneeling. At some point while they were talking, he must have kicked off his shoes; he rested his hands on his knees, head tilting to one side to regard her.

“I don’t ever lie, you know.” He paused, blinking. “…’Cept for when Aether’s on my tail, but what that big old lug doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

“Right…?”

“So what I’m _saying _is, I could tell you.”

The Sister felt the blood freeze in her veins. She stared at him, the dawning horror she felt only intensifying as she realised he wasn’t joking. An attractive Ghoul she’d admired from afar for quite some time was now asking her to show him her body. What a day this was turning out to be.

Shrugging, he continued to stare. The Sister fidgeted, eyes darting all over the room - anywhere but on him.

“You got a pretty face.” He continued, and her heart fluttered. “I bet the rest matches.”

“I’m - I’m not sure -” She mumbled, a hand lifting to try and still the hammering in her chest. “I mean, it’s… put it this way; would you take off your clothes in front of me?”

He nodded - way too quickly - and she flushed harder, a small puff of air escaping her as she shook her head.

“Oh - stop - no, I meant - well, would you take off your _mask_ in front of me?”

His eyes narrowed, and she immediately regretted asking. Her first instinct was to apologise - profusely - but the words caught in her throat. She watched his fingers dig into his knees, and his eyes wander away for a moment.

“You think that’s fair? It would make us even?”

“I’m… I’m not sure… You don’t have to -”

“Yeah, I know. Nothin’ can make me do anything if I didn’t want to.”

She watched his hands raise until they were resting on the mask, his eyes not leaving her for a second.

“If I took off my mask, would you feel okay showing me? I think that’s a pretty even trade. If I got caught showing a Sister my face I’d be in some deep shit. You know that?”

Although he was small, it felt like he took up the entire room; at that moment, he was the centre of the universe - she was a planet, orbiting a fiery sun in the dark of the cosmos.

“Why risk it?” She whispered, and he shrugged, long fingers tapping rhythmically on the metal, filling the room with hollow thunking sounds.

“You got a pretty face.” He repeated.

At her eventual nod, the Ghoul lifted the silver mask from his face, turning away to set it carefully on the desk near the foot of the bed. Once done, he reached down his neck and peeled away the black fabric that made up a sort of balaclava, covering his chin and his entire head, a little window in the front for his nose and eyes to peek through.

The first thing she noticed - before he turned around to look at her again - was the length of his hair. It was tied back at the nape of his neck, and presumably had to be bundled under the balaclava thing whenever he was wearing it.

The glamour magic was gone. When he turned, she could see the horns - rising back from his head and then corkscrewing into tight points. He had the characteristic pit-like eyes all the demons had, but his eyes were especially striking; a pale green flecked with bronze and gold.

“Wait.” He murmured, reaching back - and then his hair fell over his shoulders. He ruffled it up and then tilted his head again as he regarded her, eyebrow raising.

The Sister realised her mouth had fallen open, and she promptly snapped it shut. He smiled, and she could see his eyes crinkling up, the rise of his cheeks.

“You’re really handsome.” She whispered. “I… I love your hair.”

“It’s a pain in the ass with the mask. The other guys keep telling me to cut it but it’s… you know. Part of me.”

It was a surprisingly vulnerable thing for him to say, and it gave her enough confidence to remove her own head-covering. She dithered for a moment, clutching the fabric in her hands, until he just gestured at his floor with a noncommittal shrug.

Dew hummed at the sigh of her hair. Rose gold, it was in braids, and to her hidden delight he reached over and ran one through his fingers.

“Pretty colour. Can I take them out?”

“Sure.” She whispered. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he turned her so her back was to him, feeling the bed sink behind her as he moved closer. He tugged gently on the hairband and then those long fingers were carefully unweaving the first braid. As he neared her head his fingertips brushed over her neck once or twice - and she couldn’t help shivering.

“Soft.” He remarked, combing his fingers through the loose hair a few times before starting on the other one. The Sister tipped her head back, craving his touch - which he gave to her when he was done, his fingers scratching gently over her scalp and then smoothing through her hair.

Very suddenly, he was right behind her, his legs either side of her own, his hands resting on his thighs again. Being a Fire Ghoul, he was naturally warm; it felt like she was floating in a hot bath, and she instantly wanted more. His breath warmed the back of her neck and she shivered again, head tilting back until it rested on his chest.

“Let’s see…” He murmured. Eyes down, she watched his hands creep onto her lap, closing over her own hands gently. He moved, and she felt his lips at her ear.

“I got a code.” His voice flooded through her, and it was getting increasingly harder for her to breathe. “I’m gonna do it this way. If I’d lick it, then that means I like it. So…”

Abandoning her hands, his fingertips traced gently over the tops of her thighs, making the fabric of her habit rise slightly as he moved up her lap. He hummed, his chin on her shoulder, smirking at how hard she was wriggling already. He’d barely even started.

“I’m kinda small for a Ghoul.” Dew whispered, daring to squeeze gently at her well rounded thighs. “So I love these.”

The Sister’s heart skipped. _Love_. He loved something about her. She couldn’t quite believe it; but there was no time to react - his hands roamed over her stomach and ribs, up to her chest. Any other person and she would feel horrible embarrassed by being touched like this, but with him it was so different - just the slightest brush of his fingers on her clothed skin was enough to set her on fire. She tried her best to sit still, praying he hadn’t noticed how wound up he had her.

“I like all this, too. So far, so good, Sister.”

“Dew.” She breathed, but he ignored her; his thumb traced over her jawline and then pressed under her chin until she tipped her head back again. Something warm, and wet, and definitely not a finger flickered over the side of her neck and he hummed, his lips pressed directly into her skin so she could feel it vibrating. He did it again, for longer this time; dragging the flat of his tongue over her skin, his hands coming to rest on her hips. The Sister bit back a moan, thighs clamping together as something deep within her started to throb.

“Got you all to myself, haven’t I?” He whispered, and she nodded, pressing back into him. Despite his size he was solid, not yielding in the slightest as her body writhed against his chest.

“Nobody’s been taking care of you. Stupid fucks.” He mouthed at her neck a few times - she felt the faintest rasp of fangs on flesh, and had to bit her lip to stop herself from making any noise. Her hands were gripping his thighs tight, urging him on as his hands travelled down her body and began to inch up the hem of habit.

“Don’t worry about that anymore.” He mumbled, lapping at her neck again. “I got you now.”

Once the habit was around her hips, he stuck his hand between her legs to pull them open, moving his own to give her the space to do so. Then, he pressed his palm against her, chuckling darkly at the feeling of already damp fabric on his skin. The Sister rocked her hips to grind herself against his hand as it curled to meet her, searching to give her the best friction he could.

“I like this too.” He muttered. “No complaints so far. You got a good body.”

Then, after a beat.

“You wanna leave it there?”

“Please, no.” She gasped. Dew shrugged, playing it as cool as he could - despite the fact his cock was hardening against her back. He moved his hand up and then down into her underwear, rubbing at her clit with skilled, long fingers. The Sister fell back against him, legs spreading so her knees were on top of his. His breathing was erratic in her ear, his hips starting to grind against her of their own accord.

“You gotta know, Sister.” He breathed. “I don’t like sharing. I like what’s mine.”

He rubbed a little faster, rasping into her ear for a few seconds, before continuing.

“I’m gonna get carried away really soon, you know that?”

“Please.” She begged, head tossing from side to side. “Please, please.” She could feel the ever-present press of his cock against her, the throbbing of it as it got harder - she wasn’t sure, but to her, it felt big.

He couldn’t say anymore. His fingers had found their way inside of her, thrusting with surprising gentleness. The Sister groaned, back arching up, her nails digging into his thighs.

He flipped her over with ease, moving into position between her legs. One hand rubbing at his bulge, the other skimmed up her thigh until it found the waistband of her underwear; he tugged them down roughly, smirking when she kicked her feet to help get them off.

Laying back on his bed and staring up at a very horny Fire Ghoul, the Sister couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. She watched him undo his fly and push his pants down enough to free his cock, taking it into his hand and giving it some slow, steady strokes as he looked down at her.

“Dew.” She whispered. His lips parted; he nodded once.

“I haven’t… not much…”

He shrugged as he settled on top of her, his free hand tracing over her face until she relaxed again.

“I’ll go slow.” He whispered. “But I gotta feel you.”

The Sister circled her arms around his neck and hesitantly pulled him down for a kiss; the second their mouths made contact it was like a bolt of electricity sparked between them. She ran her hands up to thread them into his hair and accidentally collided with his horns. He moaned and moved into her touch, encouraging her to explore them. Smooth to the touch, they felt fleshier around the base, where they sprung from his scalp - rubbing at them there had him shuddering, his hips lowering until his cock was gliding against her.

“Wet.” He rasped.

“Please.” She whimpered, canting her hips up; Dew lightly pressed the head against her, catching her lips with his own as he slowly pushed into her.

It was intense, but it didn’t hurt; true to his word he kept a nice, steady pace, gently thrusting a little more into her each time. His entire body was quivering with the effort of not giving in and fucking her into a stupor there and then; she felt so good, and the noises she was making against his lips were unlike anything he’d ever heard.

After giving her enough time to adjust - or, more truthfully, the most time he could stay still for - he rocked his hips into her in one, slow thrust. He groaned. He did it again.

Her fingers were digging into his back, urging him on; her head tipped back on the bed, he timed his movements to get the most noises out of her, jolting her body into the mattress with how hard he was going. It was like her body was made for him. She took him so easily, and was seeming to be enjoying herself, judging by the nails raking over his spine, tangling into his hair.

She whispered his name and he pushed his face into her neck to taste her skin again, the creaking of the bed barely audible over the sounds of his low, urgent growls that he purred into her throat. When he nipped at the base of her neck, she whimpered, eyes rolling - and he felt her squeezing around him. He held her tight against him while she shuddered and jerked, rolling her hips up in time to meet his. Dew didn’t let up for a second, fucking her through it until she collapsed backwards again, mewling and wriggling underneath him. Her face was flushed, and she gazed up at him with wild eyes when he cupped her jaw in his hand.

“Mine now.” He rasped, and crushed her lips in a bruising kiss.


	15. Absolved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't be late to Papa's sermons.

“Forgive me.” 

The two words, though whispered, broke the hushed silence of the chapel. The Sister bowed her head further, her clasped hands raising into the air. Between her palms, the beads of her rosary glinted in the faint light that wavered through the stained glass window. 

The statue of Belial that she knelt before remained snarling and impatient, and never had she felt more wretched. 

“I didn’t realise. Please, forgive me.” 

It had all started with a wink.

During lunch one day, the Sister gathered her tray and turned - almost directly into a Ghoul. And although some of his drink slopped over the rim of his cup and soaked his cutlery, his only response was to meet her horrified stare and wink. 

“Make it up to me later.” 

Six short words that had made her stomach drop and her legs turn to jelly in a split second. She’d watched him saunter away, and quickly scurried in the opposite direction. 

His idea of her making it up to him was exactly what she thought it was; loitering around the Ghoul’s dorms, one of them must have told him she was out there as he came out to fetch her. Minutes later, in some forsaken, cobwebby broom closet, she was on her knees - and not to pray. 

Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Except it couldn’t possibly have happened on a more important evening. While the Sister was busy apologising to the Ghoul, it had entirely slipped her mind that there was a particularly significant sermon celebrating the Dark Lord that everyone was expected to attend in the Great Hall that very night. It wasn’t over by the time they had finished, but there was no way she would be able to slip into the service without being noticed. And - despite the horrific guilt at missing out the elation of her Lord - she could not bring herself to go to confession and actually admit she’d missed it.

So here she was, prostrating herself before the chapel’s obsidian statue, almost in tears. She wasn’t precisely sure what would happen as a result of her absence, but messing around with the Devil himself didn’t seem to be something that ended happily. 

She didn’t even know what to say. Every time she looked up at the statue its eyes seemed to burn into her, forcing her to screw her own shut. With a low moan she brought her clasped hands to her chest, whispering whatever little snippets of prayers she could remember. 

“Forgive me.” She mumbled. “Forgive me. I won’t miss another sermon, I promise.” 

“How noble.” 

She whipped her head round. Icy cold flooded her body. She felt as frozen as the statue. 

Papa Emeritus the Third lounged quite casually on the front pew, not really looking at her. When the hell did he arrive? His mismatched eyes were heavy lidded; the white iris refracted some of the scarce moonlight as if it were glowing. In the din, he looked like someone had turned up the contrast on him - the white of his face paint and gloves shining almost luminous, where the dark of his hair and his suit melding into the darkness. 

For a split second, terror consumed her. His face was expressionless. The calm before the storm? As charming and warm as he could be, there was no doubt his wrath extended in the same extreme. But when he finally looked over at her, his lips stretched into an easy smile; she let out a shaky sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” Her whisper made him close his eyes, his head bowing slightly and then raising in a lazy nod. Unbeknownst to her, she had turned away from the Baphomet so she was facing him. The magnetic allure of his aura urged her closer, but unease continued to whirl in her stomach. Along with something else. 

She never particularly had the chance to admire him this close. He really was a handsome man, and the elongated shadows of his features made him look even more clean cut and severe. His eyes swept back over to her, the corner of his mouth lifting as a flush overcame her and settled between her legs. 

Like he knew.

“Va bene, sorella.” He murmured. A gloved hand moved to push back his hair. He moved with an almost lethargic idleness: slow and deliberate, like a cat stretching. In fact, his movements were so calculated and drawn out, it was as if he were trying not to spook her; uncrossing his legs, he rested his elbows on his thighs so his clasped hands dangled between them, and slowly cocked his head as he regarded her. 

Sizing her up.

Terrifying. Such a powerful man, and she was such a meek thing. A mouse in a lion’s den. 

It probably shouldn’t have made her gut clench as much as it did.

“Ah.” She glimpsed his teeth as he drew his breath; a little crooked, a little sharp. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

She stayed quiet, just gazing up at him, breathing shallow. 

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t feel… particularly penitent.” The slightest flash of a smile, to soothe her nerves. It was a game he had played many times before. “Are you seeking absolution, sorella?” 

“I.. I’m not sure…”

“Confess to me.” 

A shiver ran down her spine. The warmth between her legs was only getting worse. His command was gentle enough, but had that authoritative tone. All of it - just right. The web tightened. 

The Sister parted her lips for a second, feeling the beginnings of a haze sweeping over her. Any other time, confessing her mistakes face to face with him would be out of the question; she shrivelled under his stare. But desire coursed through her, dulling her senses, and she nodded slowly.

“I missed the sermon because I was fooling around with a Ghoul.” She breathed. His eyes widened, and the overwhelming urge to plant herself before him and grovel overcame her. 

“Oh.” He rasped. “I see.” 

And then, he said nothing. Waiting. Letting her sweat. She wanted to crawl over to him, hang onto his trouser leg, and weep for his forgiveness. But she stayed rooted. The stone floor chilled her knees to the point of numbness. 

“Well.” He said, after an eternity. His head lifted so he could peer at the statue, but other than that he did not move. “You value a Ghoul’s time over your Papa’s?” 

“No.” She whimpered. “No. It was a mistake.” 

“A mistake.” He agreed. “Luckily… I can absolve you, sorella. And I have just the thing in mind. Stand.” 

Shaky palms pressed into the floor. After a little struggle, she managed to get herself standing.

“Come to me.” 

As if she were walking through syrup, the Sister made her way over to him, scarcely breathing. His eyes never left her for a second. He sat back, his legs still parted. 

“Would you like me to absolve you?” He murmured. “I won’t without your permission, of course. But I have a suspicion you’ll feel better for it.” 

“Wh-” It died in her throat, her eyes bulging a little when she realised she had spoken. But he smiled at her patiently, ready to listen. She licked her lips and tried again.

“What will you do?” 

“I will take you over my knee.” 

The breath hissed from her lungs. The throb between her legs grew so intense her knees threatened to buckle. Gathering herself just enough, she was able to answer.

“Yes, Papa.” 

His legs parted further, and he gestured at his lap. Though she burned, already humiliated, she staggered the few steps to him and then paused, momentarily terrified to touch him. He tipped his head back to watch her, smiling again, and then held out his hand. 

The glove was warm and soft. He just barely took hold of her palm and helped ease her into the position; she gripped onto the arm rest of the pew and lay across his thigh. His other leg closed behind her, pinning her in place, and she thought that she perhaps would die there and then. 

“I was born in December, you know.” He continued conversationally. His voice, now disembodied, flowed around her, quiet yet sonorous. All she could do was gaze forward at the rest of the darkened chapel, and try not to tremble too hard. She felt his hand graze over her back a few times, and then the hem of her habit began to lift. She closed her eyes. 

“The twelfth month.” He noted. He lifted it just enough to expose her underwear, smoothing the bunched fabric down on the small of her back. “Seems as good a number as any, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Papa.” She whispered. Carefully, his fingers curled under the waistband of her underwear and slowly pulled them down.

He paused to do something, but not to her. Waiting like that, spread out over his lap, smelling his cologne, would be the end of her. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yes-”

He didn’t give her the chance to finish - his hand collided with her ass hard, hard enough to jolt her forward but his other leg kept her in place. Whining, she screwed her eyes closed. The skin stung and tingled. The rest of her body burned for him. 

“Uno.” He muttered, and she braced herself again.

With each smack, the noise reverberated slightly around the chapel walls. Panting, trying to subdue her whimpers, the Sister kept her eyes closed.

“Dieci.” His voice was gravelly. She let out a small groan that didn’t escape him; he chuckled, and her face burned hotter. 

_Smack_. 

“Undici. Almost, sorella. You’re doing very well.”

Oh, fuck. As if this wasn’t bad enough, he was praising her now, too. He was intent, it seemed, on turning her into a pile of mush. Unable to reply, she braced herself for the final blow. 

Six on each cheek. His hand came down hard, and then stayed there. 

“Dodici.” 

His fingers tapped onto the sore flesh for a second, and the Sister held her breath.

“You seem to have enjoyed that.” He remarked; he squeezed her ass cheek and pulled it slightly, exposing the wet heat that burned just below. Mortified, the Sister stayed quiet, and so did he.

“I’ve absolved you, tesoro.” He whispered. “You’ve been very good. Perhaps you deserve a reward?” 

“Please.” She rasped. 

“I think so to.” His voice rumbled low in his chest, making her shudder again. “I forgive you. And I love all of my Sisters very much. I like to show that. Would you let me?”

“P-Please…” 

When she struggled to right herself, his elbow came down on her back and gently kept her in place while he tutted. 

“Stay there.” 

Melting bonelessly on his lap once more, she keened as his long fingers moved down to rub against her, tracing back and forth at a frustratingly slow pace.

“What a sight.” He hummed. “All red with my handprints, and all wet for me, too. I think you like me, tesoro. Better than any Ghoul.” 

She nodded quickly. He hummed, and reached further down. The pads of his fingers toyed her clit in small circles, and where she tried to squirm his other leg kept her pressed down. Gasping and whimpering, her grip on the pew threatened to break a piece of it off. She couldn’t believe how close she was already. 

It was only after wriggling again she froze dead, eyes wide, at the feeling of his hard cock pressing against her. A fresh wave of red hot lust tore through her and she moaned, trying to grind against him somehow. He laughed, and then his fingers were gone. 

“How needy.” He cooed. “My fingers aren’t enough now? You want my cock?” 

“Hhhh.” It was all she could manage. Everything in her brain had subsided to a single, two-syllable word: Papa, Papa, Papa. 

“I’m afraid I only give it to good Sisters who show their devotion to me.” He whispered, and though judging from rumours that frequently circulated the Abbey she knew that to probably not be entirely true, she ate it up anyway. 

“I’m - de - dev -”

“Hmm?”

“Devot - devoted!” 

“Oh? Is that so? Would you get on your knees for me?”

At her frantic nod he let her go. Melting onto the floor, she took two seconds to calm down enough to coordinate her limbs so she could kneel between his legs, her hands resting on his thighs. One of his hands was bare - the one he had been touching her with - and he was licking the fingers lazily, eyes narrowing at her. A moan fell from her lips; she ran her hand to the tent in his pants and palmed at him, her other hand fighting with the zip so she could get him out.

“Così bella.” He muttered; he moved, and suddenly her habit was gone, tossed to his side on the pew. Her black hair was pinned up, and he set about unpicking the clips so lock after lock tumbled down her shoulders. A welcome distraction while she pulled out his cock and began to stroke it, peering up at him. 

Papa shifted his hips and sighed, watching her hand travel up and down his length. A bead of precum gathered at the slit; she glanced up at him for permission and then quickly flickered her tongue over it. The taste of his salt filled her mouth and she moaned; he laughed, running his hand through her hair. 

“Succhiami il cazzo, tesoro.” He drawled. 

The noises he made as her mouth began to work over him were divine. His head tipped back and his fingers tightened in her hair as she sucked, her hand pumping over the rest of his shaft while her cheeks hollowed around his head. She kept watching him, desperate to please, trying to figure out what he liked best - twirling her tongue along the underside of his head elicited a growl from deep within his chest. He tugged at her hair, just hard enough for it to make her scalp tingle. 

“Fuck.” He sighed. “Like that.”

The Sister sped up, her head bobbing. Her hands were back on his thighs; she could feel the muscles tensing and straining under her palms. As his pleasure grew so did the noises; they poured from his throat in short bursts. His entire body worked to fuck himself into her mouth - chest heaving, hips rolling. Every time he hit the back of her throat her eyes watered but she couldn’t stop looking at him for a second.

Eventually, he pulled sharply on her hair; she barely had time to gasp before he was down on the floor with her, pushing her onto her back. Where she had moved to catch herself he trailed his hands down her arms and then pinned her hands above her head, capturing them both in his one large hand so he could push her legs up, her underwear still caught between her thighs. 

“You good little thing.” Papa rasped; restrained under him like that, she could only gaze up at his hungry eyes and try to remember to breathe. The cold of the stone floor barely chilled her scorching body, and when he started to rub his cock against her she thought she would explode. 

“Beg.” His voice was breathy, hoarse. “Beg for it.” 

“Pleasepleaseplease-” 

His thighs either side of her, he bore down his weight onto her hands to keep her pinned as he pushed inside, moaning softly and rolling his hips in small circles to work inch after inch into her. The Sister drew her knees up higher so he could access her. It was entirely possible she was going to cum already. 

A guttural growl spilled from him and he gave her one hard thrust, jerking her body and making her keen in response. He started to fuck her, his eyes burning into her, loose strands of ebony hair tapping rhythmically on his face in time with his movements. He struggled to keep his composure, occasionally breaking out into a moan only to stop himself by biting down on his painted lip. 

Surrounded by darkness, all she could see was his white face over her. Nothing else existed but him, and the feeling of him filling her. Her stomach tightened more each time he slammed into her, her body shaking as he overwhelmed her with pleasure again and again. 

“Wait.” He panted. “Hold it off. Not yet.”

“Please?” She whimpered, starting to thrash. If he didn’t want her to cum, he’d have to stop; she was agonisingly close, teetering on the edge. 

“If you do,” he whispered, breathless. “I’ll give you another reward.”

A desperate, petulant whine rang from her - but damn, she wanted his reward. She wanted him. She wanted to please him. Nothing else mattered anymore. 

So, she fought it. Her body was a live wire, ready to spark at any chance, and though it felt like she was fighting against nature she grit her teeth and waited, and waited. And waited. 

Clearly enjoying himself, Papa toyed with her body. He fucked her hard and fast. Then slow, long strokes. Then hilted himself and just ground into her, grunting, eyes rolling. Her back arched, and he looked down at her, rasping between parted lips. 

“Knew it.” He said. “Knew you’d love it. Being dominated by your Papa. Okay, tesoro - you can cum.”

Like he read her mind - like he knew exactly what she wanted - he canted his hips into her again, hard and fast, intent on bringing her over. Now she didn’t have to resist it anymore the Sister could let it build, and build, and build - when she came, it hit her like a hurricane. Her entire lower body felt like it was glowing, filled with pure, unfiltered pleasure. Somewhere in the middle of her body tightening and revelling in how he felt, he spilled inside of her, hilting himself deep. Whimpering, she wanted so badly to reach up and hold him, to feel him completely on top of her. 

She got to watch him come down instead. His composure slowly slipped back to him along with his breath; he rolled his hips a few times as he recovered, making sure he was still making her feel good. Finally, his eyes opened, his gaze soft. He didn’t say anything, but he smiled, and she couldn’t help grinning back at him. 

Quick as a flash, his mouth was at her throat; peeling away her collar so he could get to the sensitive flesh there. A scrape of teeth, a sting, and then warm, pleasant numbness as the sore skin was sucked into his mouth. Humming, he sucked just hard enough for it to sting again, and then let go with a wet pop. 

Releasing her hands, he sat up to see to himself, and help pull her underwear down. Her hand flew to the bite, fingertips circling over bruised flesh; she caught his eye and he grinned at her. 

“Your reward.” He clarified. “So you will remember me.” 

As if there was a chance she wouldn’t. Still in shock, she just gazed at him. His hand trailed down her body and he smirked. 

“I want you to play with yourself and think about this.” He murmured. Those mismatched eyes flashed back up at her, and he cocked his head. 

“Did your Ghoul make you cum when you missed my sermon?” 

She shook her head. Papa rolled his eyes and, after trailing his thumb over her lower lip, helped her sit up.

“A final part to your penance, sorella.” He muttered. “You don’t ‘fool around’ with those Ghouls anymore. You don’t miss my sermons. In fact…” His lips touched her knuckles. “… I want you to come and see me for extra services.”

She’d just barely got her breath back and here he was knocking it out of her again. Giving her hand a final squeeze, Papa got to his feet, retrieved his other glove, and left without another word. 


	16. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft Cardinal Copia and a Sister.

On one of the many acres that surrounded the Abbey - one that wasn’t as filled with dense, menacing woodland - was a small dirt path that lead to a clearing. There, one can find a skilfully sculpted fountain of fish and snake; unfortunately, one that had dried up a long time ago. Just to the right of the speckled stone structure sat a greenhouse. Other than a few missing panes here and there, it was in remarkably good condition considering how out of the way it was. 

Where the thick canopy of trees waned the sun was allowed to bathe the clearing in its warm, peaceful light. The glass of the greenhouse scintillated, casting rainbows on the lush grass that surrounded it. Some years ago, someone had filled it with potted rose bushes - now, left to their own devices and watered by the rain that teemed through cracked roof tiles, the foliage swamped the building. Roses of all colours - the size of dinner plates - poked their heads out from dense greenery and thorns, sighing and dancing in the breeze. 

A little slice of paradise. Some Ghouls had told her about it a month ago, and any time it all got too much in the hustle and bustle of the Ministry she would slip away to visit, to sit on the slightly rusted white bench and lose herself in the sweet perfume of the flowers. 

Wandering there now, on such a beautiful day, the Sister already felt reinvigorated. Sunlight warmed her limbs, settled in her chest. She walked taller with every step until she skipped, reaching up to shed her habit once she was certain she wouldn’t be seen. With a tug at the single pin that held it all together, her black hair tumbled like a glossy waterfall and swished at her waist; she ducked into the ajar greenhouse door, dodging a thick, thorny stem as she did so. 

Upon straightening up, it hit her rather quickly that she wasn’t alone. 

The Cardinal looked quite different in sunlight. It highlighted how pale he was - too much time spent indoors, hunched over paperwork. Wide eyes blinked at her and then he was scrambling for the biretta in his lap, snatching it onto his head as quickly as possible. A strand of hair fell loose, but he didn’t move to fix it. 

“Oh… I’m sorry, Cardinal.” 

Humming - trembling - the Cardinal raised a hand in what he hoped was a friendly, dismissive gesture. 

“I can leave…?”

“It’s okay.” As always, he spoke quietly; like he was doubting every word before it even left his lips. 

He turned back to face forward, but every so often his eyes would flicker back over to where she was standing. Stomach turning over, she busied herself by pretending to inspect the silky pink petals of a rose near her head.

“I just come here when it gets too much.” She clarified, daring to glance over at him; his shoulders sagged at her statement and nodded, eyes slitted against the sunshine. 

“It’s… quiet.” He muttered.

He was right. Other than the occasional trill of a nearby wood pigeon, it was silent. When she looked at him again, several moments later, his eyes were closed entirely. 

A part of her still shuddered with guilt that she was disturbing him. From what she understood he worked himself to the bone - if this was his one small piece of solace for the day, she didn’t want to intrude. Even under heavy black greasepaint, she could see the considerable bags under his eyes.

He didn’t notice her sidling over to the bench, perching on the far end and taking the chance to study him. His breathing drew slow and even, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep.

She noticed, for the first time, the small freckles that smattered his face. Surely they were thriving, if he spent so much time with his head tilted to the sun like this. He’d end up covered in them before the summer was out.

“Is this how you relax?” She whispered. Eyes cracking open, he jumped when he saw how close she had moved but gave a tentative nod, watching her carefully. The habit moved under her fingers - folded once, then twice, then set down beside her. She inched a little closer. The Cardinal remained still. 

“It’s a lovely day.” She remarked. Again, he nodded; just under the layers of the cassock she could see the ever so slight hitch and heave of his chest. It was quiet enough that his somewhat laboured breathing was audible: shaky, slow. 

“Are you sure I’m not disturbing you, Cardinal?” 

With a shake of his head the Cardinal’s chin dropped, his eyes fixed on the cracked tiles on the floor. 

“I’m not good with people, Sister. Forgive me.” He said. 

“I understand.” 

She didn’t know what it was that was so endearing about him - this shy, strange man who loitered around the library or shut himself in his office for days on end. As he was seated - his body somewhat relaxed - she could take in the broad expanse of his torso, partially hidden under the pellegrina. In the middle of his chest the Grucifix sparkled; the small gemstones throwing a flood of tiny lights onto the red fabric whenever he moved. 

His thighs were huge. She wanted to put her hand on one to see how dwarfed it would be in comparison. And though he was as awkward as he was, she had a feeling he wouldn’t particularly mind if she did. 

“They can be stressful.”

His tired eyes closed once more at her low tone. Where his hands rested on his lap, the gloved fingers were starting to gather up the fabric so he had something to hold on to.

“But people can help you relax, too.” 

“Is… is that so…” 

Perhaps he could pass the red face off as a flush from the radiant heat of the sun, but the hoarseness with which he spoke gave him away immediately. He didn’t dare look at her. She sidled ever closer, and he shivered.

“You work very hard, Your Eminence.”

“H-huh.” 

His eyes fixed on the small hand that had found its way beside his own, placed as casually as she could on his knee. 

“Maybe I could help you relax.” 

Finally, his eyes reached her face - but instead of lust, or intrigue, there was something else. The dear Cardinal’s features creased with confusion. The Sister hesitated, pulling back a little.

“Have I… did I misjudge…?” 

“You?” He murmured. “And… and me?” 

Fatigue had disappeared from his gaze. Instead, he studied her with boyish curiosity; genuinely baffled by her offer, it seemed. She couldn’t help smiling, and he blinked slowly.

“Yes. If you would want to, of course.” 

“What -” He wet his lips quickly, his tongue darting against the black paint. “What would… what would you… do?”

“I’m not sure.” She hummed; her hand began trailing up his thigh, the pads of her fingertips tracing lightly over the fabric on his crotch. The cassock was thick. She had to use her palm to find where his cock was, hidden under all that fabric. As soon as she touched it he tensed, moving to grip onto the edge of the seat. His teeth pinned his lower lip. 

She rubbed him in small circles, taking the opportunity to scoot right up beside him and rest her head against his arm. He breathed shakily, stuck staring at what her hand was doing to him.

“Is that nice?” She whispered. At his staccato nod, she closed her eyes. 

Warm, and sweet. The air around them was pleasantly dense with humidity, like being wrapped in a blanket. With the sunlight bathing over them both and her head leaning comfortably against him, it was hard not to drift away. The whole situation felt dreamy, in a way - in a haze of rose petals and warmth, the only thing that mattered was his cock hardening slowly under her gentle petting. When she could get her fingers around it - just barely, through the fabric - she gasped at how thick it was.

“Jesus.” She muttered. 

He shifted so suddenly she sat up, only to find him staring at her. In the few minutes of her resting her eyes he had managed to get himself incredibly worked up; red to the tips of his ears, pupils blow, lips swollen and wet from being chewed on. There was a hunger in his eyes that almost daunted her - but she also knew she was perfectly safe with him.

“What is it you need?” Her murmur made him shudder and whine, his fists clenching and relaxing a few times until he shook his head with a huff. His eyes kept flitting to her lips.

It was her turn to flush.

“You can kiss me if you want.” 

She had never kissed someone with a moustache before. It tickled against her lip but it wasn’t unpleasant by any means. He was surprisingly sweet, despite the desire that was undoubtedly coursing through him. His lips were warm and soft, with just the slightest hint of his tongue sweeping between her lips. The Sister gasped quietly; her heart fluttered while her lungs tried to remember how to breathe. She felt his arms sliding around her to pull her as close as he could given their position. His kiss reminded her of standing at the water’s edge on a beach; where it was gentle enough lapping at her toes, the promise of something much more powerful and overwhelming threatened only a short distance away. 

The Sister’s hazy thoughts were intruded by him tugging gently at her body. His face had fell to her neck and he was whispering something, his tone so raspy and urgent it took her muddled mind a few seconds to process what it was. 

“Please… please…” 

“Wh-what is it?” He was stealing the breath from her. Clutching her with the zeal of a man deprived of human interaction for so long, he was clearly seeking something from her but was too stricken to speak. It was her body’s natural impulse to fight against his strength, to keep her seated beside him, but the second she relaxed enough he wasn’t rough with her like she was expecting. Carefully, he lifted her over and onto his lap so she was straddling him. He spread his thighs to give his cock enough room to press against her and then began to grind, grunting quietly from where his face was buried in her shoulder. 

So desperate yet so gentle. He could just as easily toss her onto the floor and have his way with her but there was trepidation in every movement, and a reverence with how he held her, as if he could scarcely believe she was allowing him to do this to her. Shifting her hips, she settled the crotch of her underwear on the long line of his cock and let him do the work, stroking the hair on the back of his head and humming. 

How long did they stay like that? Time melted away into meaninglessness. The world ceased to exist outside the four walls of the greenhouse. The rocking movements of his hips canting up against her combined with the warmth of the summer air around her had her eyelids drooping, but a fire burned bright inside of her to keep her mind focused on what was happening between her legs. The Cardinal rutted against her urgently, his soft grunts and whimpers vibrating into her skin. 

“How long has it been since someone took care of you?” She muttered; his grip on her tightened in response and he shuddered, letting out a quiet moan before resuming his efforts.

She wanted to play with him. She wanted to reach between them and somehow dispel all the stupid layers of clothes and touch him for real, to feel the slick of his pre against hot flesh. There was a pulse between her legs she couldn’t ignore and the thought of him taking her like this, using her in the middle of all the roses to satisfy the urges that had built up over however many years was too alluring. But any time she tried to wriggle - to move things along - she was unable to. Even attempting to bring his hand up onto her breast proved fruitless; he instantly moved it back to her hip. The Cardinal kept her pinned, gently but firmly, on his lap. She hadn’t seen his face once since this had started, but judging from the heat radiating from it into her neck he was as red as his cassock. 

“It’s okay.” She soothed; she stroked his hair again, having noted that he had liked that before. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be ashamed. Everyone gets like this. We… we can do more, if you want?”

A shake of his head. Disappointment overcame her momentarily, but she nodded and closed her eyes once more. 

She was soaked. Even through all the clothes that separated them the feeling of his cock driving against her was enough to make her head spin - and being caught up in him, caught up in his sole attention and in being the object of his desire staggered her. She clung to him as his grinding became more erratic; she had to remember this. How he smelt of the ritual incense and old books. How large his thick torso was, pressing against her. She could feel the curve of his stomach against her own; it was oddly charming. 

Her legs were starting to hurt. His grip on her hips had been iron-tight for the whole time, pushing her down against him so her legs strained to stay open. But she could tell it wasn’t going to last for much longer.

“C-Cardinal - maybe -”

He was going to make a mess of himself. He didn’t seem to be slowing down. The Sister knew she would happily get on her knees for him - take him in her mouth so they could both walk away from this experience relatively untouched.

“Are you gonna cum?” She whispered, partially scandalised, mostly burning with wonder. He nodded quickly and she bit her lip to stop herself from smirking.

“You’re gonna cum in your pants?” She continued. Another nod. She giggled, squeezing his thighs with her own until he groaned and bucked. 

“That’s dirty. I didn’t know you were so dirty, Cardinal.” 

Beetroot with shame but delirious with lust, the Cardinal managed another nod. His panting scorched her neck; she smoothed down his hair again and sighed, circling her hips in time with his. In the miasma of it all her brain wandered, painting images that her lips spoke into existence. 

“Would you go get changed? Or… or would you walk around like that all day? Thinking about me? Would it get you hard all over again, knowing what a mess you made of yourself for a Sister, Cardinal?” Her lips brushed his ear and he whimpered, all but crushing her against him. “Would you touch yourself and think of me?”

“_Yes_.” 

She hadn’t heard him speak for quite a while so it made her jump a little. It was grunted between gritted teeth, spat out between gasps and pants. 

“Good boy.” She whispered, breathless as he was. She didn’t know what compelled her to say it but it did the trick. The Cardinal’s whole body tensed and jolted. His teeth scraped along her neck and he groaned, deep and magnificent, rocking slowly to ride it out. She rose and fell with his hips, her fingers tight in his hair until he came to a stop. His grip went slack, and when she pulled away to catch his eye he looked the other way entirely. 

“Don’t be ashamed. I’m… I’m glad to help.” 

She would do more than help. Every part of her was alive with need but now he wasn’t looking at her, or making an effort to touch her. As much as she wanted to slide from his lap and bolt from how awkward the atmosphere had become, she forced herself to stay put and kiss his cheek. 

“I’ll help you anytime, Cardinal.” 

Her whispered promise made him shudder, some of the tension in his body disappearing along with it. Giving him a final squeeze she got off his lap and sat back down on the bench, tugging at her skirt until it was back over her knees. 

The Cardinal remained silent, still unable to look at her but seemingly more at ease. After a long pause, he got to his feet and headed for the door. 

A pause. He glanced over his shoulder at her, cheeks reddening all over again, and then turned back. She couldn’t see what he was doing but his arms moved, and she heard the sound of something snapping.

The Cardinal turned back to her - not quite looking her in the eye, but trying his best. Scurrying back over, he acted so quickly she could barely register what was happening until he was already gone. 

With one hand, he swept up her left and brought the knuckles to his lips. With the other, he gently pressed a fiery red rose stem into her palm. Gazing at it dumbly, the only thing that came to mind was how perfectly it matched his cassock.


End file.
